


Dr. Schwanz, I Presume?

by Ninja_Librarian



Series: The Many Adventures of Duckburg's Heroes! [2]
Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Dr Scwhanz is 200 percent done with Drake Mallard as a whole, Drake is a hot mess on pain meds, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Injuries are not graphically described, Long-suffering Launchpad, M/M, This is just 6 straight chapters of Drake whump and angst folks, Vomiting, injuries, light blood, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 04:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20540366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninja_Librarian/pseuds/Ninja_Librarian
Summary: Dr. Elise Schwanz runs a tight ship in the Duckburg Hospital Emergency Room. She's no-nonsense, great at her job, always in need of a cup of coffee, and 100% dedicated to her patients.Even the pair of idiots who keep showing up in her ER with some... interesting injuries and stories behind them.Did we mention that she needs a cup of coffee?()()()()()()()Or... 5 times Drake Mallard ended up in the Emergency Room, + 1 time Darkwing Duck did.Or... 5 times Drake Mallard admitted he was in love, + 1 time he actually told Launchpad.





	1. Chapter 1

As an ex-actor who did all of his own stunts as well as generally being a pretty clumsy and unlucky person in general, Drake Mallard was used to suffering a lot of physical pain and injuries. And he knew that his new career as a caped crime-fighting vigilante only meant that he signed up to suffer and suffer greatly on a larger scale.

But having only been so recently freed from not one but two hard, itchy, bulky casts and even more recently having finalized Gosalyn’s adoption, Drake was trying to limit how much bodily harm he received. He did his best to look out for himself and not take more risks than necessary, honestly and truly.

Bad guys, however, did not extend the same courtesy.

“We’ve got you surrounded, Dr. Fear!” Darkwing yelled, pointing his gas gun at the former Duckburg Tech meteorology professor turned villain. The two were currently on top of the college’s science building, Gizmoduck swooping in along with Launchpad in the Thunderquack. “Surrender!”

The crazed professor laughed as lightning flashed and thunder rolled and he cried out “Fool! It is you who should be surrendering to me if you want your friends to live!”

With that, he began to direct the lightning using the remote in his hand, nearly taking out Gizmoduck and almost hitting the Thunderquack.

Snarling, Darkwing Duck flicked the switch on his gas gun, switching it from the canister of sealing foam he typically used to capture bad guys to the grappling hook.

Needless to say, Dr. Fear wasn’t expecting the cord to wrap around his torso, or for Darkwing to retract the hook, sending him to the ground, his remote going flying.

“Looks like you’re a little tied up,” Darkwing said, going over to pick up the remote. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this…”

He had just picked it up and turned off the lightning machine when he felt something heavy collide with his back. There was the sound of evil laughter, Gizmoduck calling out for him, and Darkwing was airborne, falling towards the ground from the top of the two story building.

He hit the ground, felt something pop in his shoulder, and the breath was knocked out of him so he couldn’t even let out a cry of pain.

Darkwing didn’t quite remember blacking out, but he remembered waking up, stars in his vision—quite literally, as it was night—and pain radiating in his shoulder and spreading down to his numb fingers as he dizzily looked up at the visored helmet of Gizmoduck hovering over him.

“—wing! Oh, good, you’re— Wait, no, don’t get up, you might have injured your—!”

Darkwing ignored him and pushed himself onto his left side, Gizmoduck backing up slightly as Darkwing threw up.

“Ah, well, okay then,” Gizmoduck said awkwardly, the Fenton underneath the suit showing. “Yeah, it’s, uh, good you got up, then. Guess that means your spine and neck are okay. I think. But don’t move! Launchpad will be here in a second, he’s landing the Thunderquack and—”

“Dr. Fear?” Darkwing groaned, falling back over onto his back, the pain in his head and shoulder still strong and his stomach still churning. He winced at the additional feeling of how gross his throat and mouth now felt

“I took care of him, he’s not going anywhere,” Gizmoduck insisted. “Well, except to prison. Again. Not that it really worked the last three times but—”

“Gizmoduck,” Darkwing growled, closing his eyes. “Shut up or I’ll puke on you.”

“Duly noted.” Gizmoduck demurred.

“DW!”

Darkwing lazily opened an eye to look up at Launchpad, who was kneeling down beside him.

“I’m going to hand Dr. Fear over to the cops,” Gizmoduck said. “I’ll be back. Or, uh, I’ll send someone I know. Named Fenton. LP, try to keep him awake, he might have a concussion.”

With that, Gizmoduck went back towards the roof.

“DW, come on, talk to me,” Launchpad urged.

“My shoulder is on fire,” Darkwing groaned. “I think it’s dislocated… Launchpad, help me sit up.”

“Why?” Launchpad asked, watching as Darkwing pushed himself up onto his left elbow.

“Because I’m going to pop my shoulder back into place,” Darkwing explained through gritted teeth with the pain. He took a few deep breaths to settle himself and his stomach.

“You can do that?” Launchpad asked as he carefully helped his partner get into a sitting position.

“Yeah. Totally,” Darkwing said with as much confidence as he could muster. Truth be told, he had only seen how to do this on the internet once trying to teach himself first aid, given the fact that he could not afford to go to the hospital for every single injury he collected. He just had to hope this would work.

“Uh, should you be doing that when you might have a concussion?” Launchpad asked, sounding nervous.

“Pssh, I don’t have a concussion, I swear,” Darkwing insisted. He took another deep breath. “Okay. This isn’t going to be pretty…”

Using his left hand, he grabbed his right wrist. After a deep, stabilizing breath, he tried to lift his right arm.

Emphasis on tried.

He had barely lifted his arm when his vision went black and his stomach churned…

Launchpad said nothing as he patted the retching Darkwing on the back. When he thought Darkwing was done emptying the contents of his stomach, Launchpad asked, “So, uh, did it work?”

Darkwing slumped against his boyfriend, his eyes half lidded. “No, LP. It did not.”

Fenton came running up to them at that moment, pausing a moment to pant, his hands on his knees. “Sorry,” He wheezed. “Had to put the suit in the Thunderquack. And take the suit off near the soccer fields and they’re all the way over—”

“Fenton,” Launchpad interrupted. “We’ve got to get him to a doctor.”

“Agreed,” Fenton said, standing up straight again. He showed the two something that he had in his hand, saying, “That’s why I brought this.”

“What exactly is this?” Darkwing asked, not opening his eyes to look.

“What we need to take Drake Mallard to the ER,” Fenton said, kneeling in front of Darkwing to start unbuttoning Darkwing’s jacket.

Drake opened his eyes to glare at both of them.

“I don’t need to go to the ER…” Drake argued.

“You’re going to the ER,” Fenton and Launchpad said simultaneously.

“But I don’t need to go to the ER…”

Launchpad and Fenton exchanged a look, having a feeling that they were in for a very long and very circular conversation.

“Let’s talk about this more,” Launchpad said. “At the ER.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Dr. Elise Schwanz was having a night and more than ready for her shift to be over. She’d already had to change her scrubs twice, had to delay her lunch break which meant that she couldn’t call her girlfriend before she boarded an eight-hour flight, and had a patient demand to know why he was being seen by another nurse and wanting to know when the doctor would actually show up. That last one had nearly made her forget her Hippocratic Oath to do no harm.

Alas, she still had four hours of her shift left.

“Hey, Elise!” Dr. Schwanz turned to see Carol, a sweet-faced pig who was a nurse, who was approaching with a clipboard and envelope in hand. “Got an easy one for you.”

“Is there such a thing?” Dr. Schwanz asked, accepting the clipboard and wishing it was coffee. She read through the file on the clipboard. “Male duck, late twenties, dislocated shoulder, huh?”

“Yep. X-Rays are in the envelope,” Carol said. “After all you’ve already done tonight, this is basically a break.”

Dr. Schwanz scoffed. “A break? What’s that like?”

She headed towards the cubicle listed on the chart, frowning slightly when she heard voices.

“You shouldn’t have taken me to the ER,” One male voice was saying. “I am fine. Totally fine.”

“Yeah, that’s why you puked. Twice,” Argued another male voice.

“Puking is cathartic,” The first voice argued.

“It’s also a symptom of a concussion.” Piped in a third voice in a matter-of-fact tone.

“The nurse ruled out the concussion when we checked in. But that’s beside the point. I am an adult, I can refuse treatment if I want.” The first voice insisted.

Schwanz grit her teeth. Oh. Great. It was one of _those_ patients…

She threw back the curtain and said, “Hello, I’m Dr. Schwanz. Which one of you gentlemen is Drake Mallard?”

There were three ducks in the cubicle, one tall and broad with red hair and wearing a bomber jacket, a short brown duck with messy hair, and a medium sized white duck in a purple flannel shirt who did not look happy to be there. The fact that he was the one seated on the bed and his right shoulder was at a weird angle answered her question on sight, but Dr. Schwanz wanted to ask anyways.

The first two pointed at their friend in the purple shirt.

Drake Mallard huffed and said, “They’re over-reacting. Besides, I know how to get my shoulder back into place on my own.”

Oh, great, an armchair doctor…

“Do you now, Mr. Mallard?” Dr. Schwanz said sweetly. “Oh, I’m sorry, is it Dr. Mallard?”

Drake shifted on the bed slightly and said, “Uh, no…”

“Drake Mallard, RN?”

“Er, no…”

Dr. Schwanz blinked at him innocently. “Ah, I see. You’re still in school, then? Medical school or nursing school?”

“Neither…” Drake admitted.

Dr. Schwanz let her sweet grin turn sharp as she said, “Then how about you let the medical professionals be the medical professionals, okay?”

She had the immense satisfaction of watching her patient gulp and attempt to shrink into the bed.

The short duck coughed and said, “Whelp, Launchpad, I think you’ve got this from here so I’m gonna, uh, I’m gonna go. See ya, Drake, hope you feel better. Nice to meet you, Dr. Schwanz!”

“Fenton, you coward,” Drake hissed as the smaller duck—Fenton—slipped past and booked it out of the ER.

“Now then,” Dr. Schwanz said, pulling out the X-Rays and putting them on the light-board, flipping on the switch. As she studied the X-Ray, she continued, “So how exactly did this happen, _Mr._ Mallard? I heard something about symptoms of a concussion on my way in…”

“I, uh, fell off a roof. Two stories,” Drake said softly.

Dr. Schwanz paused and looked over her shoulder, neither duck looking at her.

“You fell off a roof,” She repeated flatly. She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Are you aware that it is nearly two o’clock in the morning?”

“Yes, Doctor,” Drake confirmed.

“What the heck were you doing on a roof two stories up this late at night?” She demanded.

“Uh…” Drake said, glancing at the taller duck—Launchpad, did Fenton say his name was? Had to be a nickname. Launchpad shrugged and looked a bit panicked. “Uh, Christmas lights?”

“It’s June. Why were you putting up Christmas lights in June?”

“One, thank you for not assuming we were taking down Christmas lights, and two, haven’t you ever heard of Christmas in July?”

“Okay. And why did these Christmas lights for Christmas in July have to be put up in the middle of the night?”

“Ah, come on, Doc,” Launchpad said jovially. “Don’t you ever just… get that Christmas spirit? In the middle of the night? Is that a thing?” He glanced at Drake. “Seriously, is that a thing? I don’t know, I’m Jewish.”

Dr. Schwanz glanced between the two of them then pinched the feathers at the base of her beak. She really needed coffee, she felt a headache coming on…

“May I enquire what your relationship is to each other?” She asked.

“Partners,” Launchpad said at the same time Drake said, “Boyfriends.”

They glanced at each other, then Drake quickly said “Partners” while Launchpad exclaimed “Boyfriends!”.

Dr. Schwanz took a deep breath. “Look. I won’t judge, and I’m just a medical professional trying my best to tend to my patient. That means I need the whole truth. Is ‘putting up Christmas lights’ an euphuism for something else entirely?”

“No!” Drake and Launchpad exclaimed at the exact same time, both with red cheeks and shaking their heads.

Dr. Schwanz blinked, unimpressed and highly skeptical. “Okay, look here’s what’s going to happen. All three of us want this conversation to be over, so I’ll just ask one more question: was there any alcohol or other substances involved in this ‘putting up Christmas lights’ situation?”

“No.” Drake confirmed.

“Good,” Dr. Schwanz said. “Because here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to go and get a nurse to give you a nice big dose of painkillers, then I’m going to put your shoulder back in its socket, put your arm in a sling, and get you out of my ER. Does that sound like a good deal?”

“Yes, Dr. Schwanz…” Drake and Launchpad said together, sounding chided.

“Perfect.” Dr. Schwanz said. “Be back in five.”

After she pulled the curtain back, Dr. Schwanz rolled her eyes towards the ceiling and shook her head.

You got all sorts of crazy in the ER…

()()()()()()()()()()()()

“Come on, Drake, nice and easy does it,” Launchpad said, trying to gently coax his drugged-out-of-his-mind boyfriend into the house, Drake giggling and swaying. “One foot in front of the other.”

Drake dramatically stretched his leg out, giggling as he hopped onto it, then swung out the other leg.

Launchpad sighed and started to fish his copy of the key to Drake’s house out of his pocket.

“Launchpad!” Drake said, grinning wide and his eyes glassy. “Guess what!”

“What, Drake?” Launchpad asked, trying to keep an arm around Drake’s waist to keep him upright as he unlocked the door.

“I’m the night that terrors in the flap!” Drake declared. “No, wait, I am the error that naps in the tights! No, that’s not right either.”

“You’ll get it, DW,” Launchpad said, reaching for the now-unlocked doorknob.

He didn’t get his hand on it, Drake’s leg kicking the door open as he strode in and gleefully yelled, “I AM THE TERROR THAT FLAPS IN THE NIGHT! THAT’S IT, LAUNCHPAD, THAT’S IT! I AM THE TERROR THAT FLAPS IN THE NIGHT!”

“You’re the superhero that needs to be quiet so that you don’t wake up Gosalyn!” Launchpad stage-whispered as he rushed to get the door closed before the neighbors heard the commotion.

“Too late for that,” Gosalyn said from the top of the stairs, yawning. She frowned. “What happened to Drake?”

“Gosalyn!” Drake exclaimed, throwing his good arm wide and nearly knocking over the coat rack, which Launchpad rushed to catch before it hit the ground. “I’ve got a secret!”

“Oh, do you now?” Gosalyn asked, coming down the stairs while also giving Launchpad a ‘Seriously, what happened?’ expression.

“Yeah, come here,” Drake said, crooking a finger at her, giggling slightly. Gosalyn approached and Drake leaned over and whispered, “I’m Gizmoduck!”

Drake giggled again, looking immensely pleased with himself, then put his finger to his lip and made a shushing sound. “Don’t tell anyone! It’s a secret!”

Gosalyn was too tired to be amused and arched an eyebrow. “Good to know, Drake… Launchpad? Seriously? What happened?”

“Yeah, he kind of dislocated his shoulder. The nurse at the ER gave him a good dose of pain medication before they put it back into place, so he’s a little out of it,” Launchpad said. “I’m going to get him up to his room. You go on back to bed.”

With that, Launchpad—who had decided he was not going to fight the battle of getting a drugged and loopy Drake up the stairs—swooped Drake up bridal-style. Drake found this hilarious and threw his head back with a laugh and kicked his feet slightly, like it was all a game.

“How long until the meds wear off? And are you going to stay the rest of the night?” Gosalyn asked as she followed Launchpad up the stairs.

“I don’t know, and yes,” Launchpad said, though he felt odd saying so. In the commotion at the ER, Launchpad hadn’t asked Drake if he wanted him to stay over, and Drake hadn’t asked Launchpad to stay over. They had both agreed that they had felt like it was too early in their relationship for permanent co-habitation, and both thought it would be better for Gosalyn while she and Drake were transitioning into their new parent-child roles. So Launchpad sleeping over was rare but usually preceded by a long night on patrol where they were both too exhausted to move any further, or the even rarer times that Gosalyn slept over at McDuck Manor with her friends while Launchpad and Drake had some alone time.

But all of those times had been carefully planned, or with Drake’s direct approval. Launchpad just hoped that Drake would have given approval if he could actually think straight for one minute. Especially since he didn’t want to leave Gosalyn alone with Drake when he clearly wasn’t in his right mind and could potentially do more to harm himself than he already did.

“Where do you want to sleep?” Gosalyn asked. “’Cause I can make up the couch for you, if you want.”

That was probably the best place, but given the circumstances…

“Could you bring some extra blankets and pillows to Drake’s room, Gos?” Launchpad asked. “I’ll sleep on the floor in there. In case he needs something.”

Gosalyn nodded and went to the hall closet as Launchpad carried Drake into the bedroom, sitting him down on the edge of the bed while he pulled back the covers. By now, the effects of the medicine and the events of the night seemed to have caught up to Drake, and he yawned, his eyes half-lidded. Launchpad decided not to bother changing Drake into his pajamas, since he didn’t want to undress and re-dress a still-drugged and sleepy Drake and especially didn’t want to mess with the sling his arm was in.

“Come on, DW,” Launchpad coaxed. “Let’s get you tucked in.”

Drake nodded vaguely and let Launchpad help him further up the bed and under the covers.

Drake grinned at him sleepily and yawned again. “You know what, Launchpad?”

“What, Drake?” Launchpad asked as he tucked Drake into bed.

Drake stretched his good arm out and booped Launchpad on the tip of the beak with a fingertip, still grinning widely as he said, “I love you.”

Launchpad blinked, staring at Drake, who proceeded to close his eyes and start snoring.

Drake said ‘I love you’.

To him.

For the first time.

And then he had the nerve to fall asleep?????

No, he didn’t mean it. It had to be the drugs.

Right?

Launchpad sighed and pressed a kiss to Drake’s head. “Good night, Drake.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Drake groaned as he opened his heavy lidded eyes. He could feel the crust on his eyelids, his mouth felt so gross, he had a headache, and his shoulder hurt.

Not the best way to wake up.

“But at least I’m not in traction,” He mumbled to himself.

It was sad that that was his standards, wasn’t it?

Drake painfully shifted himself into a sitting position

“Morning, Drake,” Gosalyn said as she entered the room. She crawled into the bed beside him, giving him a hug. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a bus,” Drake told her.

“Launchpad said you fell off a roof,” Gosalyn told him as she snuggled into his side.

“They feel very similar,” Drake said, closing his eyes again

“Wait, you’ve been hit by a bus before?”

“No, but I imagine this is what it would feel like. More or less.”

“Drake? Promise me you won’t get hit by a bus.”

“Gosalyn, sweetie, I would but I feel like the universe would take that as a challenge.”

“Fair enough.”

“Hey, you’re awake!” Launchpad exclaimed as he entered the room, carrying a tray with breakfast foods

“Ugh. More or less,” Drake admitted, opening his eyes again. His stomach growled as he looked at the tray. “When did you get here, LP?”

“I, uh, I stayed over. After I got you back home,” Launchpad said sheepishly. “I slept on the floor in here. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Well, I mind that you slept on the floor,” Drake said. “You could have slept on the couch or the bed or something.”

“It wasn’t bad, and I didn’t mind,” Launchpad said, sitting at Drake’s feet. “You hungry?”

“Yes, and now I feel even worse about you sleeping on the floor, since you made breakfast, too,” Drake said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Launchpad told him, passing him a plate with toast. “Gos helped.”

“I did,” Gosalyn confirmed proudly.

“Well, thank you both,” Drake said, starting to munch on the toast and trying to ignore the fact that he was going to get crumbs everywhere.

Gosalyn pressed a kiss to Drake’s cheek then climbed out of the bed, saying, “I’m going to go grab a glass of juice. Want one, too, Drake?”

“Sure, Gos, thanks,” Drake said.

Gosalyn scampered out of the room and Drake reached for a second piece of toast. As he started on it, he realized that Launchpad was looking at him oddly.

“Everything okay, LP?” Drake asked.

“Yeah,” Launchpad said. “Just… Uh, Drake? Do you, uh, do you remember much of last night? After we left the hospital?”

“No?” Drake said, now concerned. “Why? What happened?”

“Oh, uh, it’s just… You were saying some weird things, that’s all,” Launchpad said, something in his tone slightly off. “You know. Totally normal things one says when they’re high on pain meds. Yep. Totally and completely normal.”

“Like what?” Drake prompted, suddenly very worried.

“You told us that you were Gizmoduck!” Gosalyn said as she reentered the room.

“Ugh, do _not_ tell Fenton about that,” Drake said, rolling his eyes. “Anything else totally embarrassing that I should know about?”

He glanced at Launchpad who for some reason looked slightly disappointed as he said, “No. Nothing at all. Nothing to worry about.”

Launchpad moved the tray onto the bed and ruffled Gosalyn’s hair, then gave Drake a kiss on the cheek. “I’ve got to head to the Manor to get Mr. McD. I’ll drop him off at the Bin, then get some groceries before I swing back by here.”

“You’re the best, Launchpad,” Drake said, settling into his pillows.

“It’s nothing,” Launchpad insisted. “Just totally what boyfriends do for boyfriends, you know. Uh, Gos, keep an eye on him, okay? Don’t let him get bored, because he’ll do something dumb.”

“Hey!” Drake protested.

“Got it!” Gosalyn said, grabbing the TV remote. “Saturday cartoons, here we come!”

Drake watched Launchpad go, and he told Gosalyn, “You know, I can’t help but feel like I forgot something important.”

“Like your own intro? Because you did last night.” Gosalyn told him.

Drake sighed and grabbed a piece of fruit off the plate. “Guess I’ll never know.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Implied/Referenced domestic abuse in this chapter
> 
> Also, more angst than fluff, but there is fluff nonetheless.

Drake squinted up at the bright fluorescent lights, groaned, then closed his eyes again with a groan.

Every part of him ached, and he could practically feel the bruises forming. Had he been run over by the entire Duckburg High football team? Boy, did that bring back memories…

Why were they never good memories?

No, wait, he remembered now. It hadn’t been a football team that ran him over. He hadn’t been run over at all. He had gotten pummeled though. By… what’s his face? The Destructanator, ex-wrestling superstar who just preferred to destroy things and fight anyone and everyone. He had vague recollections of being tossed down a flight of stairs. Several flights of stairs…

Wait.

He had fought Destructanator as Darkwing Duck…

Where was he?

More importantly, _who _was he? Was he Drake or was he Darkwing?

Drake opened his eyes and sat up, though he groaned and regretted that immediately as his vision swam. He looked down to see himself dressed in a hospital gown and nothing else. So that answered one question. Sort of. He reached up and touched the side of his face. No mask… But who took it off? And when? Before or after he arrived at the hospital?

“Good to see you awake, Mr. Mallard.”

Drake turned to see a tall female swan enter the room. He frowned, recognizing her.

“Dr. Schwanz?” He asked, trying hard not to groan. He and this doctor did not get along last time…

“Well, your memory is intact,” Dr. Schwanz said dryly, approaching.

“How about the rest of me?” Drake asked, looking down to take better inventory now that he saw that he was covered in gauze and bandages.

“Well, nothing is broken or dislocated, and there’s no concussion or internal damage. However, you were unconscious when you were brought in,” Dr. Schwanz said, leaning against a counter, watching Drake.

“Wait, who brought me in?” Drake asked, his heart pounding, needing to know if his secret was out.

“Your partner. Launchpad McQuack.” She frowned, then asked, “Is that his legal name?”

“As far as I know, yes,” Drake admitted with a nod.

“Well, he brought you in, along with this little girl who claims she’s your daughter? Quite vocally proclaiming to be your daughter, for that matter.”

“Gosalyn, yeah,” Drake confirmed. Well, shoot, there went any possibility of being the cool superhero in her eyes.

Granted, she had called him out as a theater kid within the first fifteen minutes that they knew each other…

“Wait, where are they?” Drake asked, looking around, though he knew that they weren’t hiding under the chair or inside the cabinets. At least, he hoped they weren’t.

“They’re in the waiting room. While you were receiving treatments and tests, we couldn’t have them in here.”

“Can they come back here now that I’m awake?”

“Not just yet. You’ll be pleased to know that you should make a full recovery, and won’t have to stay the night.”

“So, am I free to go, Doc?” Drake asked, eager to get out and connect with Launchpad and Gosalyn, get the information he missed.

“Not quite,” Dr. Schwanz said. “I have a few questions for you, Mr. Mallard.”

“Uh, okay?” Drake said nervously. He didn’t like the way she was scrutinizing him… It was awkward and uncomfortable and he knew for a fact that someone had to have put him in this gown and—

“What happened that led to you being brought—battered, bruised, and unconscious—to my ER this afternoon?” Dr. Schwanz asked.

“Is this a test for my memory or something?” Drake asked.

Dr. Schwanz narrowed her eyes. “Answer my question, Mr. Mallard.”

Drake sighed and rubbed the back of his head, wincing as he felt a bump. “Ah, it’s really embarrassing. I was coming down the stairs with a basket of laundry and missed a stair. Fell all the way down. Must have hit my head on the bannister or something.”

Better to tell a partial bit of the truth, right?

“Ah,” Dr. Schwanz said, her voice completely blank. “That’s really interesting, Mr. Mallard. Funny, even.”

“Because it would have been great for _Callisota’s Funniest Home Videos_?” Drake asked awkwardly.

“Because your partner said that you fell out of a tree while retrieving your daughter’s kite.”

There was silence in the room as Drake and Dr. Schwanz stared at each other, neither moving nor speaking.

“Uh…” Drake finally stumbled out. “I, uh… I guess my memory isn’t all intact?”

Dr. Schwanz sighed, though it sounded a bit sad. “Mr. Mallard, let me cut to the chase. You came in here with fresh cuts and bruises, as well as several indicators of similar healing injuries.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Drake exclaimed loudly, smacking his palm to his forehead. “I, uh, I fell down the stairs, last week! It was only a few on the bottom, so that’s why—”

“Drake,” Dr. Schwanz interrupted, taking a step forward to sit on the side of his bed, looking at him with an odd mix of forcefulness and sympathy. “This is a safe space. We can get help for you, get you and your daughter out of this… situation. You’re not alone, and I know that it may seem scary but—”

It took a split second for Drake to realize what she was implying.

“No!” He said, more forcefully than he intended, his eyes wide and making frantic slashing motions with his hands. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong! I’m not… My boyfriend… Launchpad is not responsible for my injuries. It’s not like that at all…”

“Then what is it like?” Dr. Schwanz demanded. “Because where I’m standing, things are fairly clear. Please, help me understand so that I can help you and your family in the best way possible.”

Drake groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Look, I understand that and appreciate that. If I needed help in that way, this would be a different story. But, honestly, Launchpad is the nicest, gentlest, most helpful and loving and patient person I know. He treats me well, and I’d say he treats Gosalyn even better. I love him like crazy. And I know that people who are abused by their romantic partners often say that, too, so it’s not any good reason for you to believe me but… please, trust me. We’re fine. I’m just insanely clumsy and have a lot of bad luck. Like, a lot.”

Wait.

Did he just… word vomit to her, and in the process admit that he was in love with Launchpad?

Whom he has not yet said ‘I love you’ to?

Oh. Oh, he did.

Oh, this was bad. He told a practical stranger that he was in love with his boyfriend, and hasn’t actually told said boyfriend that he was in love with him.

“Uh, everything I just said is subject to doctor-patient confidentiality, right?” Drake asked quickly, his eyes wide. “Because I haven’t told Launchpad that I love him. I mean, there’s no reason to not to tell him, I just, you know, haven’t found the right way to tell him. I’m not even know if he reciprocates and what if he doesn’t? Because if I tell him ‘I love you’ now, and he doesn’t, then what? Do we break up? Do I pretend I didn’t actually say it? And we’ve only been dating for like four months, and maybe barely that, and is that too soon or does that come off as weird? Like, creepy weird? Weird enough to drive him away? Oh, oh, no, when we first met I said that I wanted to keep a celebrity in a jar in my closet. What if he thinks I want to keep in him in a jar in my closet? And—”

“Mr. Mallard,” Dr. Schwanz interrupted, frowning. “I am not a relationship counselor. And that is not the problem I am looking to address.”

“Did you not just hear me explain that there is no problem to address?” Drake asked. “I would have thought my babbling would have confirmed that…”

Dr. Schwanz looked doubtful still, but she sighed and handed him a business card. “Look, I’m going to have to take your word for it that everything is alright. But, please just keep this, and call me if you need anything.”

Drake accepted the card and said, “Thanks. So now can I—”

He cut himself off when he heard screaming and crashing sounds from outside the door. Dr. Schwanz leapt to her feet, but as soon as she did the door opened and there stood Gosalyn, grinning triumphantly as she called out, “Launchpad! I found—HEY, LET ME GO YOU FOUL NURSE RATCHET! DRAKE, TELL HIM TO LET ME GO!”

Gosalyn squirmed and kicked in the arms of a nurse, who did not look pleased and quite frankly looked tired. Drake groaned and buried his face in his hands. Of course his kid was causing a scene in the hospital ER.

“Sir,” The nurse said flatly, hardly perturbed by Gosalyn’s struggles or noticing Launchpad skidding to a stop behind them. “She claims that she is your daughter. Is that true?”

Drake took one look at the furiously screaming Gosalyn and said dryly, “I have never seen that child before in my life.”

Gosalyn stopped screaming and kicking then and her eyes flooded with tears. “Oh no!” She cried out, tears spilling down her cheeks. The nurse set her on the ground and she rushed over to Launchpad, grabbing him by the jacket as she wailed: “HE HAS AMNESIA!”

Drake cringed as Launchpad knelt down to comfort Gosalyn, suddenly regretting his words. “Oh, oh no, sweetie… Gosalyn, I was kidding! Pumpkin, I’m sorry! Come here, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it!”

Launchpad led Gosalyn over to the bed, and Drake encouraged her to climb up into his lap. She buried her face into his shoulder as Drake whispered apologies.

“They wouldn’t let us see you and we thought you were dead!” Gosalyn declared, sniffling angrily. “You weren’t waking up, no matter how many times we said your name or pinched you, and—” She cut herself off crying again.

“I’m so sorry,” Drake murmured, pressing a kiss into Gosalyn’s hair. “I’m so sorry…”

“You scared us pretty bad there for a while, Drake,” Launchpad said, his hand just resting on Drake’s knee, but his eyes on Gosalyn.

Drake knew why. Gosalyn had already lost so many people in her short life. Her biological parents died when she was too small to really remember them. She had been the one to come home and find her lifeless grandfather…

Horror and guilt suddenly flooded through Drake.

Gosalyn’s grandfather had been found at the bottom of the stairs. The official cause of his death was listed as an accidental fall.

Drake had fallen down stairs, and was unconscious, unresponsive…

Gosalyn had thought she had lost him once. But to think she could lose him in the same way as the last person she loved.

“Gosalyn, listen,” Drake said, gently cupping Gosalyn’s face. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m sorry I scared you, and I’m sorry I said something mean, I shouldn’t have been sarcastic like that. I love you, kiddo, and will never forget you. I love you so much. And I won’t let you be alone again.”

Gosalyn threw her arms around his neck. “I love you, too, Dad.”

Drake wrapped his arm around Gosalyn, then stretched his other hand out towards Launchpad for the pilot to grab. He smiled and grabbed Drake’s hand, squeezing it, silently saying, _I’m not going anywhere either_.

Drake closed his eyes and rested his beak on top of Gosalyn’s head, just taking a moment to enjoy a moment of calm.

Then he pulled back from her suddenly, his eyes wide. “Wait, did you just call me ‘Dad’?”

Gosalyn frowned for a moment in thought. “Yeah? I did?” She sounded slightly confused both by the question as well as the realization of what she had said, then suddenly she let out a squawk as Drake pulled her to his chest tightly, peppering her with kisses. “Hey, what gives?”

“You called me ‘Dad’!” Drake exclaimed, tears rolling down his cheeks, his beak hurting with how wide he was grinning. This was the first time she had ever called him ‘Dad’…

“Ugh, if this is what I get I’m never going to call you that again! Ever!”

“Noooo! Don’t say that!”

Dr. Schwanz observed this scene, and sighed.

“I’ll get the release paperwork started,” She said before she left the room.

She still had her doubts, but she was certain of one thing: Drake Mallard loved his daughter more than anything, perhaps even more than he proclaimed to love Launchpad McQuack. If there was something going on, something that he needed help with, something that could affect Gosalyn, he knew who to turn to.

She just had to hope he would.

()()()()()()()()()()

“She accused Launchpad of what!” Della exclaimed, leaping off of Scrooge’s desk while Donald sputtered angrily in the corner, the infamous Duck temper beginning to show in both twins.

“She didn’t accuse, but she implied,” Drake corrected. “Heavily.”

“Clearly, this doctor is from Crazyville, because that is insanity!” Della proclaimed, waving her arms around.

“Keep your voice down, Della,” Drake hissed, frowning. “We don’t want the kids to know.”

“If I may, Master Mallard,” Duckworth said, popping out of the wall behind Scrooge’s desk. “The children are all in the television room playing a game, and I have ensured that there is not a way for them to eavesdrop, no matter how… passionate the conversation gets.”

This last bit was said with a side-eye towards Della, who now squished Launchpad’s face between her hands, the redhead clearly confused by his personal space being invaded in this manner.

“Look at this face!” Della demanded. “Does this look like the face of someone who has a mean bone in his body? He once cried because we had to kill a troll! Not a real troll, or even one of the online ones, but one made out of pixels _in a video game_!”

“I once saw him trip over a side-table and apologize to the table,” Mrs. Beakley added as she handed Drake a cup of tea.

“Er, you saw that?” Launchpad asked her nervously, his voice a bit muffled since Della was still holding onto his face.

“I see all, Launchpad,” Mrs. Beakley said with the faint hint of a smirk as she took a sip of her tea. “Remember that.”

“Uh…” Launchpad trailed off with wide, horrified eyes.

“I’m gonna give her a piece of my mind!” Donald declared, getting out of his chair and pushing back the sleeves of his shirt.

“You will do nae such thing,” Scrooge said, still staring at Dr. Schwanz’s business card. “Sit down. Both of ye.”

Donald and Della both resumed their seats with huffs.

Scrooge leaned back in his chair and set the card on the table, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair and threading his fingers together. “Now. You two brought this to my attention for a reason. The question is, what do you want me to do about it?”

“It’s more making you aware to the situation,” Drake said. “I don’t know, in case we need character witnesses? Launchpad doesn’t deserve this kind of scrutiny or judgement.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Launchpad told Drake. “You needed help. I’d do it again no matter what that doc thinks.”

“That’s where I’m gettin’ concerned,” Scrooge said. “This has been the third time that Drake has ended up in the hospital. Fenton has an advantage that ye don’t have, Drake, which is the Gizmoduck suit. It takes the brunt of the blows, so less need to seek medical attention. Now, we can easily change that—”

“No,” Drake said quickly. “No suit. I like my costume, and it has special meaning to me. Besides, Gizmoduck and Darkwing might work together, but we’re completely independent. I’m still working on getting people to realize I’m not Gizmoduck’s sidekick. I don’t care that that means that I get a little banged up along the way.”

“Gos and I feel differently about that,” Launchpad said, fiddling with a loose string on the arm of his chair. “You weren’t moving, Drake. Weren’t waking up. You scared us. Gosalyn especially.”

Guilt flooded Drake and he laid his hand over Launchpad’s. “I’m sorry…”

“Not your fault,” Launchpad told him, giving Drake’s hand a squeeze. “Just… be more careful?”

“Kind of goes against the whole ‘let’s get dangerous’ thing, but, yeah, I’ll do that,” Drake said.

Scrooge sighed. “I dinnae know what to tell ye, lads, other than this is a case-by-case judgement call. If there’s an injury, figure out if it can be treated at home or here at the manor, and if you think it’s more serious go straight to the hospital and seek professional help. Put your hand down, Della, I dinnae care how many Junior Woodchuck first aid badges you and Huey have between ye, neither of you are medical professionals and do not count.”

Della huffed and lowered her hand, crossing her arms over her chest irritably.

Scrooge ignored her and continued, “We’ll just keep an eye on the situation, and figure things out as we go along. Not my favorite way of doing things, but these are fairly unusual circumstances.” Scrooge picked up the card again and hmmed. “Dr. Elise Schwanz, eh? We’ll keep an eye on her, too.”

He handed the card back to Drake, who pocketed the card.

“And in the meantime, I’ll just avoid getting knocked unconscious or any other circumstances that involve a trip back to the ER,” Drake said.

That wasn’t too difficult of a task, right?


	3. Chapter 3

“Ow, ow, ow!” Drake hissed as he slid down to the ground at the base of a tree, scowling at his foot.

He couldn’t believe he got an anvil dropped on his foot. An actual anvil! Like he was some cartoon character or something! Seriously, what the heck was anyone other than Renaissance Faire blacksmiths doing with a real anvil these days? Other than dropping them on the feet of masked vigilantes?

“Are you okay?” Fenton asked as he stuffed more of the Gizmoduck armor into his bag.

“Yeah,” Drake grunted, starting to undo his own costume. “Just hurts. Doesn’t feel like it’s broken.”

Fenton came over, dragging his duffle bag in the grass behind him. He frowned down at Drake’s foot. “Looks swollen to me.”

“Well, yeah, it had an anvil dropped on it not fifteen minutes ago,” Drake reminded him, folding up his cape and jacket. “Its fine, I’ll put ice on it when I get home.”

Fenton knelt down and gave Drake’s foot a gentle poke.

Drake yelped and nearly leapt a foot into the air, pulling his knee to his chest as he hissed in pain, tears welling up in his eyes. “Don’t do that!” He snapped.

“You could have a hairline fracture,” Fenton told him with concern. “And with that swelling and the intense amount of pain—”

“It only hurt because you poked it!” Drake growled.

“And does it hurt when you walk?”

“Only when I put my full weight on it.”

“And have you done that recently?”

“Yes.”

“Willingly?”

“No…”

Fenton sighed and stood up. “We should get it X-rayed, at least.”

Drake groaned. “Not this again… I’m not going to the ER. I told you what happened last time.”

“And Mr. McDuck said that we need to evaluate each injury and determine whether it needs minor first-aid at home or major medical attention. This could be either,” Fenton argued.

“And I’d rather not give that doctor more ammo against Launchpad, especially given that he’s not even in town right now,” Drake said firmly. He’d gladly suffer through an injury if it meant ensuring that Launchpad’s reputation wasn’t tarnished.

Fenton suddenly grinned and pointed at Drake with both hands and said, “And that’s exactly why we need to go to the hospital! Right now! Tonight!”

“Huh?” Drake could see the wheels turning in Fenton’s head but couldn’t help but wonder if this was one of Fenton’s good ideas or bad ideas.

“Launchpad is off adventuring with Mr. McDuck and the kids!” Fenton said, going over to help Drake get to his feet, slinging Drake’s arm around his shoulders. “Which means I’ll be taking you in. Me. Your friend. Who can most definitely confirm that some accident befell you through no fault of Launchpad’s.”

Drake was starting to catch on. “Which means that Dr. Schwanz and whoever else cares will see that I really am just an injury magnet.”

“Precisely!” Fenton exclaimed with a nod. “Now, we just have to figure out what to tell them at the ER… I’m thinking a bowling accident.”

“I say we tell the truth,” Drake argued as he limped and leaned heavily on Fenton. “That it was an anvil. Those are a lot heavier than a bowling ball. Might make a difference.”

“Do you think they’ll believe it, though?” Fenton asked worriedly. “I mean, who gets an anvil dropped on their foot in the middle of the night?”

“Who cares?” Drake said. “They bought our ‘putting up Christmas lights’ thing, didn’t they? Besides, if they don’t, what’s the worst that can happen?”

()()()()()()()()()()

“Hey, Elise,” Carol called from the nurse’s station. “You’re not gonna believe this one.”

Dr. Schwanz took a sip of her coffee as she walked up to the desk, taking the patient file from Carol. “What is it this time?” She asked.

“Just read the reason for the visit yourself, it’s ridiculous.” Carol told her.

Dr. Schwanz flipped open the file and read the section, beak pressing tighter and tighter together as she read. Then fury filled her as she saw the patient’s name.

“Are you kidding me?” She demanded in a whisper. Louder, she asked, “Carol, who’s on this case?”

“No one yet,” Carol told her.

“Good. This one is mine,” Dr. Schwanz said, tucking the file under her arm and stomping away towards the patient’s assigned cubicle.

She threw back the curtain to glare at Drake Mallard, seated on the bed.

“Is this some sort of joke?” She demanded, waving the file at him. “Because you did not seriously tell my charge nurse that an anvil dropped on your foot. What the heck did you do, piss off a Ren Faire blacksmith?”

“I told you she wasn’t buying it,” Whispered Drake’s companion. It wasn’t Launchpad this time, but the short brown duck who had briefly been present at Dr. Schwanz’s first ER encounter with Drake Mallard. What was his name again? Henson? Ashton?

“Shut up, Fenton,” Drake hissed.

Ah, Fenton, that was it.

“You want to tell me the truth, or are we just going to go along with whatever fantasy you’ve concocted this time?” Dr. Schwanz demanded.

Drake bristled at that and snapped, “It wasn’t my boyfriend, if that’s what you’re talking about. He happens to be out of town.”

Dr. Schwanz frowned. She hadn’t forgotten her accusations from his last visit. She was still suspicious, and her professional training guided her suspicions, but Drake did show up with someone different this time… Though that also didn’t necessarily mean anything.

“Look, see?” Drake pulled out his phone and showed Dr. Schwanz a social media timeline, date and time stamped over the last several days and featured Launchpad with a group of people, mostly kids—wait, was that Scrooge McDuck?—in a place that was clearly not Duckburg if the sand and pyramids in the background were any indicator.

Alright. So he was telling the truth. This time.

Well. Partially.

Because, seriously, who other than Renaissance Faire blacksmiths had a real anvil these days? What was this, a cartoon?

“Will you tell me what did happen, then?” She asked. “For real? None of this anvil nonsense?”

Drake and Fenton exchanged a glance.

Drake pocketed his phone and sighed. “We were out bowling. Fenton and me. And I dropped a ball on my foot.”

“It’s four in the morning,” Dr. Schwanz pointed out. “What bowling alley is open this late?”

“Inversely, what bowling alley _opens_ this early?” Fenton asked, looking particularly pleased with himself until both Dr. Schwanz and Drake narrowed their eyes at him. He chuckled nervously and tugged on the collar of his shirt and said, “Er, sorry. No, this was earlier in the night. We, uh, brushed it off until the swelling and pain got so bad that we thought an ER visit was in order.”

Dr. Schwanz stared at Fenton for a long moment, then Drake, then she closed her eyes and sighed.

“Look,” She said. “I’ll be honest with you here. I’m going to believe this story because I’m on hour seven of a ten hour shift and I am just now realizing that I forgot my cup of coffee at the nurse’s station when I got this file, so there is not a doubt in my mind that it is going to be gone when I get back. So let’s just get this over with, okay? So you can go, and I can get more coffee, and we can all pretend this night never happened. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Drake and Fenton said together.

Dr. Schwanz nodded. “Alright. Now. Let me take a look at your foot.” She went over to the bed and frowned at the sight of Drake’s foot, which was incredibly swollen. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain?”

“I dunno, I guess a five? Right now, at least.” Drake said. “I can move it, but it hurts a lot and it definitely goes up. And I can’t put my weight on it. It’s at least an seven if I do either of those things.”

Dr. Schwanz nodded then gently began to feel the foot for breaks, frowning as she noticed Drake’s winces. “How bad is the pain now?”

“Eight,” Drake grunted out, his eyes closed. “Not excruciating, but very, very intense…”

Dr. Schwanz removed her hands. “It doesn’t feel broken, but I want to get an X-ray to confirm. We’ll know how to proceed from there.”

As she left the cubicle, she heard,

“Well, that simultaneously went better than expected and absolutely horrible.”

“Shut up, Fenton.”

Dr. Schwanz groaned to herself.

This was going to be the longest three hours of her life…

()()()()()()()()()()()()

“Well, it’s not broken,” Dr. Schwanz said, studying the X-rays. “Not even a hairline fracture. The tendons and muscles are just bruised and swelling as a result. So that’s the good news.”

“What’s the bad news?” Drake asked hesitantly.

“Bad news is that there’s nothing we can do except utilize RICE,” Dr. Schwanz said, turning off the light board before turning around.

“Brown rice, white rice, whole-grain or…?” Fenton asked, having whipped out a notepad and pen, clearly ready to take notes as the self-designated primary caregiver for Drake for the time being.

“Not that kind of rice,” Dr. Schwanz sighed and—for the umpteenth time since she had learned Drake Mallard was once again in her Emergency Room—really wanted her coffee. “RICE stands for Rest, Ice, Compression, and Elevation. I think focusing on the rest, ice, and elevation parts will do the trick, though. How’s the pain, Mr. Mallard?”

“Eh,” Drake said with a shrug. “It’s somewhere between five and six.”

“Here’s what we’ll do then,” Dr. Schwanz said. “I’ll give you a small dose of pain reliever to manage the pain. It’ll get you through the rest of the night and into tomorrow so you can rest somewhat comfortably. Sound good?”

“I just, uh, have one concern,” Drake said. “The last time I was on pain meds, when I dislocated my shoulder, I apparently said and did some stupid things. I’d rather not have a repeat of that experience.”

Especially since he did not want a repeat of telling someone he was Gizmoduck. Especially since the person who would be looking after his pain-med-high tailfeathers was the real Gizmoduck.

“I’ll give you a lower dosage of what we did that time, then, maybe about half a dose,” Dr. Schwanz said. “It’ll mean it just takes the edge off the pain, though.”

“That’s fine,” Drake said with relief. At least that meant he wouldn’t embarrass himself. “Thanks, Dr. Scwhanz.”

“Don’t mention it,” Dr. Schwanz said, taking the X-rays down and putting them back in the envelope they came out of. She handed the envelope to Fenton and looked Drake in the eye as she said, “Just please, for the love of all things holy, _stop showing up in my ER every other week_.”

“Uh, sure, doctor…” Drake said, watching her leave again.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, Drake,” Fenton said jovially as he tucked his notepad and pen away. “I personally guarantee that nothing will go wrong.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()

“You and your big mouth, Fenton…” Fenton mumbled to himself as he practically dragged a giggling Drake into the house, the other duck grinning in a lazy, carefree manner and pointing at the stars.

“That one’s name is Furgle. And that one’s Moopy,” Drake told Fenton confidently as Fenton sat Drake down on the step leading up to the house. “And that one, see that one?”

“Yes, Drake, I see it,” Fenton grunted as he searched Drake’s pockets for his house-key.

Drake pouted at him and said, “No, you don’t. You’re not looking…”

Fenton sighed and turned his head towards the sky. “Which one again?”

“That one!” Drake said, pointing in the general direction of the sky. “He’s moving so fast and he’s winking! It’s his way of saying hi! Isn’t he a great little star? Going so fast, doing star things…”

Fenton sighed as he saw what Drake was referring to, then went back to searching Drake’s pockets.

“Well, I’d say yes, but I regret to inform you that that is actually a plane.” He told Drake.

“A plane…” Drake said with wonder. “Wow, that’s even better than a star!”

“Well, one is a remarkable invention by mankind, and the other is a wonderful miracle of science and nature, so I guess they’re both neat,” Fenton said, finally getting his hand on Drake’s house-key. “I’m going to open the door now, sit right here, okay?”

He rushed to unlock the door, leaving it open so that he could usher Drake inside. He went back to his friend’s side…

And he froze, cringing slightly as he found Drake with his face in his hands, shoulders bobbing as he cried.

“Drake, what’s wrong?” Fenton asked, kneeling down in front of Drake. “Are you in pain?”

“Launchpad flies a plane…” Drake wailed.

“Yes. Yes he does,” Fenton confirmed. “Is… is that a problem?”

“Launchpad flew a plane and left me behind,” Drake sniffled.

“Yes, but he’ll be back tomorrow,” Fenton said, carefully getting Drake into a standing position and helping him into the house.

“But he left!” Drake moaned as Fenton closed the door behind him with his foot. “I didn’t want him to go!”

“Well, did you tell him that?” Fenton asked as he led Drake to a recliner, plopping Drake down in it.

“Noooo,” Drake moaned as Fenton grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch. “I miss Launchpad. I wanna snuggle with him.”

“Well, uh, I’m sure he wants to… snuggle… with you, too,” Fenton said awkwardly, tucking the blanket around Drake before pulling the lever on the chair to extend the footrest. Hoo, boy, this was… this sure was something… “Okay, Drake, I’m going to go and—”

Fenton let out a yelp as suddenly Drake’s hands shot out and grabbed him by the arms. Fenton, alarmed, looked at Drake’s horror-filled face.

“Nooo…. Fenton, don’t leave me!” Drake begged, his eyes full of tears.

“I’m not!” Fenton told him, panicking slightly as he tried to get Drake to loosen his grip. “I was just going to get some ice for your foot from the kitchen. Remember? I’m going to stay with you until Launchpad and Gosalyn get back tomorrow…”

Drake released Fenton to bury his face in his hands again, sniffling.

“He’s gonna leave… Doesn’t matter how much I love him, he’s gonna leave…” He sniffled. “He’s gonna leave…”

“What? Who? Launchpad? No,” Fenton said, gently petting Drake on the shoulder. “I mean, he might go on adventures with Mr. McDuck or on vacation or something, but he’s not going to leave leave.”

“He is,” Drake insisted, still speaking into his hands. “He’s gonna realize he can do better, and he’ll leave. I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t stay with me either… But I love him so much and I don’t know what I’m gonna do when he leaves me…”

Fenton cringed. Damn it, he was a scientist and a part-time robotic-suit-wearing superhero, not a therapist…

“Drake, listen,” Fenton said firmly. “Launchpad isn’t going to leave you. Break up with you. Whatever.”

“You don’t know that!” Drake snapped. “He could! Easily! Doesn’t matter if I tell him I love him, he’ll realize I’m too much work, too much of a screw up. He’ll get tired of me. Gosalyn, too…”

The heartbroken note when Drake said his daughter’s name made the tension leave Fenton’s shoulders.

“Gosalyn won’t leave you, either,” Fenton pointed out. “You’re her dad now.”

“And how long till she wishes I wasn’t?” Drake asked softly. “How long till I’m alone again?”

Fenton sighed and rubbed his forehead. He did not have enough sleep for this…

“Drake, let me go get ice for your foot now,” He said firmly. “And then we’ll continue this conversation, okay?”

Drake turned his head away and made a non-committal mumble.

Fenton went into the kitchen and found a plastic baggie to fill with ice and a cloth to wrap around the bag. As he filled the bag with ice, Fenton mulled over the last five minutes with Drake, who had essentially poured his heart out courtesy of pain meds. Fenton felt bad that his friend had kept this bottled up for so long.

But he had to wonder if Drake would remember anything he had to say, therefore if it was worth it to continue to have this conversation in Drake’s addled state.

Fenton sealed the bag and wrapped it in the dishcloth.

“Drake needs you now,” He told himself. “And you’re going to be there for him, Fenton, because that’s how M’Ma raised you.”

On that determined note, Fenton walked back into the living room.

“Drake, I’ve got the—”

Fenton cut himself off at the sight of Drake in the armchair, sound asleep with the blanket pulled around his shoulders, snoring softly.

Fenton sighed and put the bag of ice on Drake’s swollen foot. Drake twitched slightly as the coldness hit his flesh, but otherwise did not stir.

Fenton sat on the couch, then decided he might as well get some sleep, too.

He had a feeling he’d be having round two of this conversation come morning.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

When Fenton woke up, it was well past sunrise and he could hear car doors slamming and the excited voice of a little girl. He had just opened his eyes when he heard keys in the front door and by the time he was sitting up on the couch there was the sound of bags hitting the floor and Gosalyn yelling, “Dad! We’re home!”

“Shhh!” Fenton shushed, putting a finger to his lips before heaving a yawn.

Gosalyn entered the living room, followed by Launchpad.

“Hey, Fenton!” Gosalyn said. “Where’s Dad?”

Fenton yawned again and pointed at the armchair, where Drake was still out cold. Speaking of cold, he needed to check on the swelling and possibly get more ice…

“What happened?” Launchpad asked, alarmed as Gosalyn ran over to Drake’s chair.

“Villain. Anvil. Foot.” Drake mumbled, one eye opening to a slit. Oh, he wasn’t as out cold as Fenton thought…

“An anvil?” Gosalyn said, her brows furrowing. “For real?”

“Yep. For real,” Drake said, closing his eye again. “Very, very real. Trust me.”

“What is this, a cartoon?” Gosalyn demanded. “And was the villain a Renaissance Faire blacksmith who turned to the Dark Side?”

“Something like that,” Drake mumbled, shifting in the chair slightly, pulling back the blanket, which Gosalyn took as an invitation to climb up into his lap, throwing her arms around her father’s neck for a hug. “Welcome home, by the way. How was the trip? Did you have fun? What treasures did you bring back to Duckburg?”

“It was good, yes, and something that is most definitely _not_ cursed.”

The way Gosalyn said that last part fully awakened Drake, because it sounded like the exact opposite. “Most definitely not cursed? What does _that_ mean?”

“Mr. McD said not to worry about it,” Launchpad said, coming to sit on the couch beside Fenton. He put his hand over Drake’s. “You, on the other hand…”

“Nothing to worry about, LP,” Drake informed him. “Doc said nothing’s broken, just bruised muscles and tendons.”

“Let me check the swelling,” Fenton said, standing up and crossing over to the chair. He moved the cloth-wrapped bag of ice—which was now just really cold water—and was pleased to see that the swelling had gone down considerably. “Let’s leave it off for a little while, then put more ice on later if there’s still swelling.”

“Great, great,” Drake said, a bit distractedly. “So, could we go back to this cursed thing?”

“It’s not cursed, just… has a mild hex on it?” Gosalyn said with a shrug.

“What kind of hex?”

“The, uh, boring kind?”

“Which means, what, exactly?”

Fenton decided that was the moment to take care of the bag of water and the damp cloth, going into the kitchen. He heard Launchpad following him.

“Thanks for taking care of Drake,” Launchpad said.

“No problem, it’s what friends are for,” Fenton said.

“Anything I need to know about?” Launchpad asked. “Injury care wise?”

“Not really, just keep an eye on the swelling, have him keep his foot elevated, and rest,” Fenton said. He frowned, then added, “Oh, yeah, you should know that they gave him a bit of a painkiller last night. Less than what they gave him when he messed up his shoulder, but it was… uh, interesting.”

That got Launchpad’s attention. “How interesting?”

“Well, he renamed some stars,” Fenton said. “And, uh, told me that he missed you. And Gosalyn. And, uh—” Fenton felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment as he got out: “And, uh, that he, uh, really wanted to, uh. Snuggle. With you.”

Launchpad just blinked at that, looking mildly surprised. Then he smiled. “That I can take care of. Easily.”

Fenton hesitated. Should he tell Launchpad about the other things Drake had said? Or should he leave well enough alone? Talk about it with Drake in private first? But before he could make a decision, he heard Drake yell,

“YOU DID _WHAT_?”

“It was only a small pit of cobras, Dad, chill!”

Launchpad walked out of the kitchen, calling, “Relax, DW! That wasn’t even the most deadly thing we encountered!”

“That is not helping, Launchpad!”

Fenton shook his head and stepped back into the living room.

No, he’d let it go. For now.

Besides. He had a feeling Drake would handle this on his own when he was ready.


	4. Chapter 4

In Drake’s opinion, he had suffered enough moments of humiliation in his life so that his alter ego as Darkwing Duck did not have to.

In this night of patrol, he learned that his opinion was laughed at by the universe and now both of his egos were bruised.

As were his tailfeathers…

Ricky “Richter” Skalle thought he was big stuff with his concussion bombs that caused mini-earthquakes throughout the city. In addition to causing a great deal of panic, Richter used his bombs to break into stores, usually by shattering the glass in the front windows as well as that of glass cases at the jewelry store and museum cases.

Now, in his defense, Darkwing Duck and his partner had gone to great lengths to protect their feet when they went to corner Richter, knowing that glass would likely be all over the floor as Richter went for a rare diamond at the Duckburg Museum.

Darkwing just forgot to protect another important part of him that his uniform typically didn’t cover.

So when Darkwing got thrown back by another one of Richter’s bombs within the museum, he landed tail-first on glass shards.

The pain was immediate—like being stuck with hundreds of cold needles—and Darkwing couldn’t stop the yelp that he let out as he jumped off the floor. The pain was soon overwhelmed with humiliation as Richter laughed at him and made his way to escape.

But, fortunately, the trap Darkwing had set with Launchpad had worked and Richter soon found himself dangling above the museum lobby like a chandelier.

The pain quickly returned, and the glass made itself known with every step. It hurt to walk, and he blinked back tears, putting on the unflappable superhero persona as Richter was passed over to the police.

But for all that was holy, it seemed to go on forever, talking with the officers and the museum’s curator, shaking hands, when all he wanted to do was grab Launchpad and go home to nurse his wounds in peace. It took everything in him to pretend everything was alright, that it wasn’t unusual for Darkwing Duck to wrap his cape around him tightly, to pretend that there wasn’t blood dripping down his thighs. And he managed to make it last, and did it so well that Launchpad didn’t even notice something was amiss until it was time to get back on the Ratcatcher.

“You coming?” Launchpad asked as he put on his helmet.

“Y-Yeah…” Darkwing mumbled, looking apprehensively at the seat of his beloved motorcycle, fiddling with his helmet for a moment, pretending to adjust the straps.

_Just lean all your weight forward, it’ll be fine,_ He told himself as he put on the helmet. _It’s not too far of a drive home, we just won’t stop… You’re the Terror that Flaps in the Night, you’ve got this…_

Spoiler alert: he did not “got this”. Not in the slightest.

Even trying to get on the motorcycle was excruciatingly painful and he leapt away with a little bit of muffled yelping and cursing. Launchpad was almost immediately at his side, catching him before he fell to the ground.

“DW?” Launchpad asked, worried. “What’s wrong?”

Darkwing just groaned and pushed his face against his boyfriend’s chest, pretending like this wasn’t happening. His cheeks were burning. Both sets, unfortunately…

“Can you sit down?” Launchpad asked.

“I’d prefer not to…” Darkwing moaned. He felt Launchpad move aside his cape and Launchpad stiffened and sucked in a breath as he took in the blood on Darkwing’s legs.

“Drake…” Launchpad whispered. Launchpad pulled away from Darkwing slightly so that he could crouch down beside Darkwing’s legs. “The glass?”

“Yeah…” Darkwing admitted. “Landed on it on that last bomb…”

“Is it just cuts, or is there still glass?” Launchpad asked.

“It’s mostly just cuts, there’s only a few shards,” Darkwing said dismissively. “Can we just go home and get it out?”

“Uh, I don’t think that’s happening,” Launchpad said, standing up straight again. “I think the ER is going to be better than our first aid kit for this oone.”

“I can get the shards out,” Darkwing insisted.

“Oh, can you now?” Launchpad was always so sincere, so hearing his voice ooze sarcasm now just told Drake that he was fighting a losing battle.

“Yes. Maybe. I might need help…”

“We don’t have any antibiotics. And some of those looked kind of deep…”

“Darkwing Duck,” The caped duck huffed. “Is not going to the hospital to let some doctor poke his tuchus.”

Launchpad frowned at him and walked over to the Ratcatcher, pulling out a bundle of clothing as he said, “Don’t worry, DW. Darkwing’s not going. Drake Mallard is.”

That, Drake thought, was even worse.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

So it turns out that when you inform the ER receptionist that ‘taking a seat’ is going to do more harm than good for the patient, you get seen rather quickly.

Drake suppressed a groan as the exam room door opened, but just barely, because of course it was Dr. Schwanz who was on his case. Now his humiliation was complete. At least he wasn’t wearing one of those demeaning gowns…

“Mr. Mallard, can you go one month without ending up in my emergency room?” The swan woman sighed as she washed her hands. “So. What’s the story this time?”

“Kitchen cleaning accident,” Drake muttered into the mattress of the ER bed, his head pillowed on his forearms, his feet firmly planted on the floor. The only thing that kept him from bolting was Launchpad’s large, strong hand on the small of his back. “Dropped some glasses. Slid on spilled dishwater trying to clean up the mess.”

“Uh huh,” Dr. Schwanz said, a slight edge to her voice. Why was this woman so distrusting? Was she like this with everyone, or just Drake? “Well. Seems like one of those things that could only happen to you, given your track record.”

“You need to hook me up with one of those punch cards,” Drake said, still not looking up but lifted a finger and twirled it. “Ten ER visits and you get the next one in the VIP suite.”

“I don’t want that to be seen as encouragement to make more repeated visits than you already do,” Dr. Schwanz said dryly as she snapped on rubber gloves. “What’s your pain on a one to ten scale, one being the—”

“Zero. Can I go home now?” Drake groaned.

“I see he’s being difficult as ever,” Dr. Schwanz said, and Drake could practically hear her roll her eyes. “Mr. McQuack, if you could step aside, please?”

Launchpad moved his hand from Drake’s back and Drake could hear him moving around the table, Launchpad’s large hand resting on top of Drake’s head now. Drake resisted the urge to lean into his hand; as mad as he was with Launchpad for dragging him to the hospital, he really just wanted to get home and cuddle and let the night be over. He just hoped—probably hope against hope—that Dr. Schwanz would facilitate that.

Doctor Schwanz may have a gruff voice, but her touch was gentle as she examined Drake.

Or, tried to examine Drake, anyways.

She had barely touched him and he yelped in pain, fingers clenched around the paper on the bed.

“Zero, huh?” Dr. Schwanz asked, sarcasm dripping like honey in her tone.

“Well, it’s going to hurt if you touch it!” Drake snapped at her.

“These are in pretty deep,” Dr. Schwanz said. “I see you’re standing, but have you been walking?”

“He was, until I finally made him let me carry him,” Launchpad answered. “Even then, it was hard to find a way to do that without causing more damage. Considering he kept squirming.”

Drake lifted his head and glared at Launchpad.

Betrayed by his own boyfriend…

“I’m worried about muscle damage, as well as the bleeding and potential for infection,” Dr. Schwanz said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to get on the table, I’m going to give you a regional anesthetic, and then I’m going to get this glass out and clean up these other wounds, then finish it off with an antibiotic. I’m going to go grab a nurse and supplies now.”

Drake groaned and thumped his head against the mattress.

Crime fighting was really a thankless job if this is what his efforts got him…

Shots with at least one going to be near his already sore derrière, more humiliation at the hands of one of his least favorite people, and most definitely not going home any time soon.

Was there any way for the night to possibly get worse?

“Oh, since the nurse clearly forgot,” Dr. Schwanz said, reaching into a cabinet and pulling out a neatly folded gown that she laid on the bed. “You need to change into that.”

With that, she left the room and the fuming Drake behind.

The door closed and Drake groaned, standing up straighter and grumbling as he started to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“DW?” Launchpad said quietly.

“What?” Drake spat bitterly as he tossed his shirt into the chair in the corner.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re in pain, and embarrassed, and that I made you come here even though you didn’t want to. But I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I worry about you; you take a lot of hits, and you can handle a lot of hits. But anytime I hear you in pain… All I can think of is ‘make it better’. And, well, this is the only place that I know that can ‘make it better’.”

Drake didn’t look at Launchpad as he put on the hospital gown. Once it was on, he slumped his shoulders and said, “I’m sorry, too. I know you’re looking out for me when my pride won’t let me.”

Launchpad walked around the bed and gathered Drake in his arms, letting the shorter duck rest against him.

“LP?” Drake mumbled after a moment

“Yeah, DW?”

“It really hurts to stand. Could you… Could you help me get onto this bed? Without further injuring myself?”

Launchpad pressed a kiss to the top of Drake’s head. “Of course.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Drake dug his fingers into the pillow that he had over top of his head, gritting his teeth with fury, embarrassment and—even with the anesthetic—pain. He lay almost flat on his stomach on the bed, two pillows underneath his hips—because _of course_ his luck dictated that this couldn’t be done in a less humiliating position—while Dr. Schwanz and her nurse worked. They had a bright, hot lamp aimed on him, and he hated the sound of the glass chinking in the metal bowl and the slight sting as the nurse cleaned the wounds.

The only thing that had made the last hour and a half bearable was Launchpad’s hand on his back, rubbing in gentle circles and fingers gently carding through his feathers.

That felt good. Very good.

“Almost done,” Dr. Schwanz told Drake. “This is the last piece.”

“She’s almost done,” Launchpad repeated helpfully.

“I heard, I heard,” Drake grumbled.

Some part of him told him that he could be nicer to the people trying to help him. The rest of him—the more narcissist, egotistical parts of him that usually only came out once he had his cape and mask on—bristled at all of the indignities and everyone who was there to witness it.

_Gizmoduck_ never suffered like this…

Drake bit back a yelp as the tweezers removed yet another shard of glass. He could have sworn that they hurt more coming out than they had going in.

“And… done.” Dr. Schwanz said, triumphantly releasing the glass shard into the bowl. “I can handle it from here, Carol. Will you go get the discharge paperwork started?”

“Sure,” Carol the nurse responded as she started taking off her gloves and washing her hands.

“Now all that’s left is the antibiotics, and you’re good to go,” Dr. Schwanz said as she tossed her own gloves into the bin and went to wash her hands.

Drake was too emotionally, mentally and physically exhausted to respond or move.

Done. He was done. One more poke and he’d be free to go home at long last.

“Uh, Mr. Mallard? Are you… alright?” Dr. Schwanz asked.

“Never better,” Drake said, his head still underneath the pillow. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I guess I was just expecting for you to have… well, moved by now.”

“Too late, I live here now. Figure I might as well, save you and the receptionist a few steps for the future.”

“Drake Mallard,” Dr. Schwanz’s voice had an edge to it that was mostly anger tinged with a hint of fear. Drake retreated from his pillow hide-out and immediately regretted it when he saw Dr. Schwanz’s blank face and eyes full of fury. “Any day that goes by in which I do not see your face is what I consider a good day at work. If you ‘move in here’, I swear you will not be living here very long. Do you want to know why?”

“Uh…”

“Because I am a doctor. And do you know what that means?”

“Uh…”

“It means,” Dr. Schwanz said. “That I have a deep knowledge of how to save people’s lives… and how to kill someone and make it look like natural causes. Are we clear on that?”

Drake, terrified, mutely nodded.

Dr. Schwanz smiled. “Good. Now. Where do you want this shot?”

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Launchpad carefully crept out of the bed, easing Drake’s arm off of him and around a pillow, holding his breath and hoping he didn’t wake Drake. He released the breath when he heard Drake mumble in his sleep and shift slightly but not open his eyes, his breathing remaining even.

Launchpad grabbed his cellphone off of the nightstand before quietly creeping out of the room, yawning as he went downstairs and into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. A glance at the clock on the stove told him that it was nearly noon, and he wasn’t surprised to see how long they had slept given how late they had made it back to Drake’s the night before.

Launchpad finished setting up the coffee maker and turned it on before scrolling through his contacts for a particular number.

Gosalyn, who had been at a sleep-over at the mansion the night before, was supposed to be picked up in an hour by Drake. Obviously, that wasn’t going to happen…

Launchpad put his phone between his ear and shoulder as he got down two mugs from the cabinet, listening to the ringing as his call went through.

“Hello?” Came a voice with a Scottish brogue.

“Hey, Mr. McD,” Launchpad greeted, setting the mugs down on the cabinet.

“Launchpad, I heard about that stellar arrest you and Darkwing made last night. Job well done. Pass my regards onto Drake for me, will ya?”

“Sure, Mr. McD. Uh, I’m calling to ask for a favor, though.”

“Something the matter?”

“I was just going to ask if it was okay if Gos stayed at the mansion a bit longer today, and if someone could drop her off at Drake’s sometime late this afternoon.”

“Of course, of course, no problem. Is that all?”

“Yes. Thanks. Oh, and, Mr. McD? Could you tell Fenton that he’s going to be the only hero on duty today? Drake’s not going to be able to walk after last night.”

There was silence on the other end and Launchpad wondered if the call had disconnected.

“Uh, hello? Mr. McD? Did you—”

“I heard, Launchpad,” Scrooge said tersely.

“See, what happened is—”

“Launchpad,” Scrooge interrupted. “I will pass on that message. But please know that that was much more information than I needed to know about as both your employer and your friend.”

“Mr. McD?” Launchpad said, confused. “I haven’t even given any details yet…”

“And it will stay that way. What goes on between you and Drake is none of my business and please let us keep it that way. Good day to you, Launchpad.”

Launchpad heard the dial tone, and wondered what he could have said that switched his employer from a good mood to a bad one in only a matter of seconds.

Launchpad shrugged.

Could be anything, really.

“Coffee…”

The word was groaned out like a movie-zombie searching for brains. It was a fitting comparison, in Launchpad’s opinion as he turned to see Drake enter the kitchen, leaning heavily on the door-frame.

“You’re supposed to still be in bed, resting,” Launchpad chided. “And especially not supposed to be on your feet.”

“Smelled coffee. Missed you.” Drake yawned as Launchpad carefully scooped him up. “’Sides, alarm went off. Need to get Gos soon…”

“I just got off the phone with Mr. McD,” Launchpad said as he carried Drake into the living room. “Gos is going to stay there a while longer, and someone will bring her home later this afternoon. Figured you’d want a little more time to rest before she comes home.”

“I’m definitely not objecting,” Drake said as Launchpad lowered him onto the couch, smiling softly as Launchpad pressed a kiss to his head.

“I’ll go get the coffee, and find something for us to eat, then how does a _Darkwing Duck_ marathon sound?” Launchpad asked.

“Perfect,” Drake said, reaching up to grab the blanket hanging over the back of the couch. “Oh, and there’s muffins in the cabinet. Double-chocolate and blueberry. Bought them at the store yesterday.”

“I’ll get ‘em,” Launchpad said. “Be right back.”

“I’m going to get the DVD player going,” Drake said, shifting slightly on the couch, wincing as he sat up. “I can do that, at least.”

“Don’t strain yourself, okay?” Launchpad said as he left the room. When he came back in, carrying two mugs of coffee and a plastic bakery container of muffins under each arm, Drake was already back on the couch, wrapped up in the blanket, the familiar music of the _Darkwing Duck_ ending-theme playing on the main-menu screen of the collector’s edition DVD.

“Start with the first episode?” Drake asked.

“I love that one, so yes.” Launchpad said, as he handed Drake a blueberry muffin and took a chocolate one for himself.

“It’s a great episode, definitely in my top ten.”

“Also, it’s called ‘pilot’. Second-best job in the world after crime-fighter.”

Drake grinned and hit ‘play’.

By the end of the first episode, their mugs were empty and several muffins had been devoured. Drake set the mug and muffin wrappers on the coffee table and got comfortable on his side, his head resting on Launchpad’s lap.

“You need anything?” Launchpad asked.

“I’m good,” Drake mumbled. He was quiet for a moment, then he shyly said, “Wait. Uh, Launchpad?”

“Yeah?” Launchpad prompted.

“Could you… could you rub my back?” Drake asked, a blush spreading across his face as he fiddled with the corner of the blanket. “It felt really nice last night…”

“Sure,” Launchpad said, grinning as he put his hand on Drake’s back, moving his hand in gentle circles. His grin grew as Drake hummed slightly and he could feel the smaller duck’s tension leave.

They watched a few more episodes in content silence, wrapped up in nostalgia and each other.

Drake didn’t remember nodding off, but he woke up at hearing the front door open and hearing Gosalyn’s voice greet Launchpad, who thanked Donald for dropping Gosalyn off, before hearing the sounds of his daughter crashing into the house, kicking off her shoes and dropping her bag.

“Keep it down, Gos, your dad’s asleep.” Launchpad told her.

“Isn’t he usually up by now?” Gos questioned. “He’s got night patrol.”

“Yeah, but not tonight.”

“Why not?”

Drake groaned to himself and pushed himself up on his elbows. Sometime during the day, Launchpad’s lap had been replaced with a pillow, and he could feel his feathers mused from where his face was against said pillow. He pushed himself into a sitting position, which didn’t hurt as much as it had that morning and he took to be a good sign.

“I’m awake now…” Drake said, yawning at the end of his sentence.

“Sorry, was going to try to let you sleep longer,” Launchpad said, poking his head into the living room.

“What happened to you this time?” Gosalyn asked as she marched into the living room, narrowing her eyes slightly at Drake with her fists on her hips.

“Whatever do you mean, child of mine?” Drake asked innocently as he adjusted the blanket he had wrapped around himself.

“You got hurt badly enough to not go be Darkwing Duck tonight, didn’t you?” Gosalyn said, standing on her toes to press the tip of her beak to Drake’s to look him directly in the eye. “’Cause you only don’t go on a scheduled patrol after you get hurt. Considerably more hurt than usual.”

Drake frowned and pulled his face away from Gosalyn’s with a sigh. “Fine. Yeah, I got hurt. Not bad, I’m just sore.”

“What happened?” Gosalyn asked, hopping onto the couch beside Drake.

“That’s classified information,” Drake said flatly. “Official superhero confidential information.”

He was _not_ going to let Gosalyn find out. He’d definitely never live it down.

“So something dumb and embarrassing,” Gosalyn said dryly. “And that’s why you won’t tell me.”

Drake scowled at her and stuck out his tongue at her. Gosalyn half-smiled, snorted a laugh, and stuck her own tongue out back at him.

“Enough about me,” Drake said, trying to change the subject.

“Wow, never thought I’d hear you say that,” Gosalyn said, her smile growing.

Drake ruffled her hair and said, “Insolent offspring… How was the sleep-over?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. We had pizza and popcorn and Pep, and watched this old scary vampire movie… And apparently the edition that Uncle Scrooge has contained the ghost of the lead actress, and playing it on the full moon allowed her spirit to come back to haunt us, which was a fun surprise.”

“What?” Drake said blankly, blinking. He had to have misheard her… Right?

“Don’t worry, between Uncle Scrooge’s old ghost-busting equipment, Lena’s magic, and a whole lot of glitter, we managed to get her back in the tape,” Gosalyn said, waving her hand slightly. “She only possessed Della for a little while, and we managed to capture her before she reenacted the final scene by staking Donald.”

“What!” Drake exclaimed, his eyes wide.

“Hey, Gos, Drake, either of you two hungry?” Launchpad asked.

“Starving!” Gosalyn responded.

“Remind me why I let you go to sleep-overs at the mansion again?” Drake demanded, ignoring the fact that his stomach was growling. He hadn’t eaten since those muffins…

“Because you like your mushy gross alone time with Launchpad, duh,” Gosalyn told him before asking Launchpad, “What’s for dinner?”

“I was thinking I’d run out and grab us some burgers,” Launchpad responded, ignoring the spluttering Drake. “You up for that?”

“That’d be great!” Gosalyn said, nodding. “Hamburger Hippo?”

“Nowhere better to get burgers from,” Launchpad told her. “I’ll get the usual. Drake, you need anything else while I’m out?”

“No,” Drake responded. “Thanks, LP.”

“No problemo, DW,” Launchpad said, pressing a kiss to the top of Drake’s head, then Gosalyn’s. He headed for the door, saying, “Be back in an hour! Or less.”

Drake smiled fondly as he heard the door close and he sighed, leaning his head back on the couch, closing his eyes.

“You really love him, don’t you?”

Drake opened his eyes again, looking down at Gosalyn, who sat with her legs folded on the couch, looking up at him expectantly.

“Yeah,” Drake confirmed. “I do.”

“Have you told him?” Gosalyn asked, tilting her head.

“Not yet.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Nothing.”

“Then just tell him already!”

“I want to. I just… I haven’t figured out how.”

Gosalyn sighed and rolled her eyes. “Darkwing Duck, hero of Duckburg, everyone. Courageous in the face of bad guys with earthquake bombs, coward in the face of admitting his feelings for his boyfriend.”

“Hey,” Drake said sharply. “Now how would _you _go about it, missy?”

“Simple,” Gosalyn said, grinning. “I would just say—” She deepened her voice in a parody of Drake’s as she said, “ ‘Oh, Launchpad, I love you soooo much and all I wanna do for the rest of my life is smush my beak against yours and make goo-goo eyes at each other all the time while we embarrass Gosalyn with our sappiness’.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Drake said dryly. “You’re _hilarious_, Gos. A real stand-up comedian.”

“Well, could you do better?” Gosalyn demanded.

“I can, and will,” Drake told her. “I just… Have to find the right way to say it, and the right time.”

“Dad, it’s Launchpad,” Gosalyn told him. “He won’t care when or where or how you say it, as long as you say it.”

“No, I’ve got to plan it,” Drake informed her. “It’s got to be perfect. Launchpad’s good at all this romance stuff and I’m… not. And so I want to make it perfect and romantic and all that. So I’m going to wait until I’ve got it perfect.”

“So you’ll never tell him, then,” Gosalyn sighed.

Drake flicked the side of her head with his finger. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, o ye of little faith. I will tell him, and it will be perfect.”

He just had zero idea of how to make it perfect.


	5. Chapter 5

The first thought that Darkwing Duck had after slamming into the side of a bus was: _And this is why I didn’t promise Gosalyn that I wouldn’t get hit by a bus._

His second thought was: _Huh, it is kind of similar to falling off a roof._

That thought was seceded by: _Oh, crap, I got hit by a bus._

His fourth thought was: _No, wait, the bus wasn’t moving. The bus got hit by _me_._

His following thought was: _I’m never having Gizmoduck throw me again, even if it did work._

His sixth thought was: _Did Fenton seriously yell ‘Yeet’ when he threw me?_

The seventh thought was: _Ow._

Well, that last thought was also accompanied by a lot more four letter expletives.

However, there were even more four-letter words that followed when he realized that the pain was centralized in his shoulder, and he had felt this pain before.

Because he had flapping gotten his shoulder dislocated.

Again.

“DW, speak to me!”

“You don’t want that,” Darkwing groaned as he looked up at the blue sky of Duckburg and his partner’s worried face. “Because there are likely children present…”

Oh, no, did he hit a school bus? He glanced over to the side and thought of several more four-letter words when he saw that, yes, the bus in question was yellow. That was not going to be good for his reputation…

With another groan, Darkwing pushed himself up with his good arm, though nearly fell over with the pain and let Launchpad grab him. With some effort and teeth grinding, Darkwing uncurled the fist of his injured arm, revealing the emerald that he had intercepted when a would-be ex-baseball-pitcher-turned-wannabe-jewel-thief had thrown to his partner.

“I think Mr. Lambsy will be glad to see this,” Darkwing said, hoping that this would ease the anxious sheep that was the Duckburg Museum’s curator.

“You know, normal parents wait for their child at their assigned bus stop.”

Darkwing narrowed his eyes at Gosalyn, who had her arms over her chest and her backpack on her shoulders.

“You know, normal children get off the bus at their assigned bus stop.” He retorted. “Not somewhere in the middle of the city.”

“Bus driver made us all get off, and apparently thinks it’s going to explode or something,” Gosalyn explained, gesturing with her thumb over her shoulder. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“Ah, but at least I have a reputation!” Darkwing informed her. He glanced at his own shoulder, wincing at the clearly dislocated joint. It looked bad, but he was fully aware that what came next—and who they encountered—would be way worse. “And, uh, unfortunately, I, uh, have a reputation…”

Darkwing groaned and gestured with his good hand for Launchpad to help him to his feet.

“Let’s get this rock back to Gizmoduck. And pray that it’s a certain doctor’s day off.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Spoiler alert: it was not a certain doctor’s day off.

“Oh, look,” She said blandly as she narrowed her eyes. “The gang’s all here…”

“Hi, Dr. Schwanz…” Drake, Launchpad, Gosalyn and Fenton chorused together as Carol led them towards a cubicle, Gosalyn and Fenton waving at the doctor.

“Did you, like, sense I was coming or…?” Drake asked hesitantly from the wheelchair he insisted he didn’t need but the nurse had told him to sit his butt down in.

“Sharon at reception for some reason thinks you’re my favorite patient, so she called me to let me know you were here,” Dr. Schwanz answered.

Carol frowned. “You called dibs the last two times he was here…”

“No one else around here can handle this level of idiocy,” Dr. Schwanz responded. She narrowed her eyes at Drake and then rolled her eyes. “I see that your shoulder is dislocated. Again. Let me guess. Taking down the Christmas in July decorations just in time for Halloween?”

“Actually, for your information, this time I hit a bus.” Drake responded matter-of-factly.

Dr. Schwanz blinked. “You got hit by a bus?”

“No, a bus got hit by me.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the bus was stationary and I was the object in motion.”

“Were you… driving at the time?”

“Uh…” Drake hesitated and glanced at his three companions as Fenton spoke up.

“It’s my fault!” He explained, putting his hand in the air like he wanted to be called on in class. “I, uh, wanted to test a new renewable power source for vehicles and we attached it to Drake’s bike and it, uh, didn’t work.”

Gosalyn put her hand in the air as well. “It was my school bus he hit.”

“And I drove us here!” Launchpad added, putting his own hand in the air as well.

Dr. Schwanz and Carol met each other’s gaze, both looking much more tired than before.

“I understand what you mean now,” Carol said with a sigh. “You want this one?”

“Might as well,” Dr. Schwanz said. “You get his vitals, I’m going to go order X-Rays and pain meds.”

As she turned away, Dr. Schwanz paused and looked over her shoulder. “Mr. Mallard, how tall are you?”

“Five feet, seven inches.” Drake responded.

“Good to know.” Dr. Schwanz said as she started to walk away.

“Does that have something to do with the X-Rays or pain meds?” Drake called behind her.

“No.” Dr. Schwanz called back.

But it did have everything to do with determining the height of stupidity.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

About the same time that realization sank in for Drake that he had injured his dominant arm and proceeded to freak out, Fenton decided that the best course of action for everyone was to take Gosalyn and find her a snack while Launchpad and Carol the Nurse tried to calm him down.

One vending machine raid later—and a prayer that Drake wouldn’t kill him for letting Gosalyn get the most sugary thing she could find—and they were headed back. When they got to the cubicle, Launchpad was alone.

“Where’s Dad?” Gosalyn asked, looking around as if her father was hiding. Though, to be fair, Fenton had seen Drake display some weird behavior on pain meds, so he wouldn’t put it past his caped counterpart.

“Dr. Schwanz took him to get his shoulder X-Rayed,” Launchpad explained. “They’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Did they give him those pain meds?” Fenton asked.

“Yep. Right before they took him,” Launchpad answered.

Gosalyn suddenly grinned. “This’ll be good. I only got, like, barely a taste of what Dad on pain meds is like and it was hilarious and I wasn’t properly awake enough to enjoy it.”

“Yeah, your dad does get a little weird when they give him pain killers,” Launchpad admitted, voice and expression somewhat distant.

Gosalyn’s eyes gleamed with mischief and she pulled out her phone. “I’m going to record every moment of it…”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Gos,” Fenton said quickly, remembering the last time he had been present with a Drake Mallard loaded up on pain killers. Sure, Drake had said some goofy things, but he had also let out some of his deepest insecurities—something that Fenton hadn’t found the time or a good way to bring up to his friend.

“I won’t, like, put it on social media or anything,” Gosalyn argued. “And Dad didn’t remember anything he said, but wanted to know, so wouldn’t it be better to see that it’s all true?”

“Yes, but, let’s say that maybe this time he isn’t at all funny?” Fenton suggested weakly. “You know what, it’d probably be better to give him some space, especially while the doctor works. I’ve got an idea, Gos, how about I take you to the lab? Dr. Gearloose won’t mind at all…”

Gosalyn frowned at him. “You’re acting weird…”

“What? No, I’m not,” Fenton insisted.

“You ran your hand through your hair, like, three times in the last two minutes.”

“So?” Fenton said, folding his arms over his chest before he could run his hand through his hair again.

“And you started rambling a bit.”

“I’m not rambling. Why would I ramble? I have absolutely no reason to ramble at all.”

“Fenton, is something wrong?” Gosalyn asked, a bit of fear in her voice as she looked towards Launchpad. “Is… Is Dad—”

“No no no no!” Fenton said quickly. “Your dad is fine! Well, except for the dislocated shoulder, of course. And we’re here to get that fixed.”

“So what’s the problem?” Gosalyn demanded.

Fenton sighed and ran his hand through his hair one last time. “Look, Gos. It’s just… the last time Drake was on pain meds, he wasn’t himself. He… said a lot of things.”

“Mean things?” Gosalyn asked.

“No, nothing like that,” Fenton told her. “More like… sad things. He got really sad. It was while you and Launchpad were gone. He missed you both a lot. But, yeah, he was sad about it and, well, cried a bit over it.”

Launchpad turned his head sharply towards Fenton. “You didn’t mention that part.”

“I didn’t mean to mention it now!” Fenton exclaimed, suddenly realizing what he had done, putting his head in his hands with a groan. “Ugh, blathering bla—er, babbler. That’s one of the things I haven’t actually had a chance to talk with Drake about.”

“One of?” Gosalyn demanded.

Fenton nearly stumbled backwards with a yelp when he saw how close Gosalyn was to him, standing on her toes to get in his face, looking concerned and ready to fight.

“No!” Fenton said, making an X with his arms. “Nope, not saying anymore! Just know that Drake missed you two, and he was sad about it, but it should be okay this time around because neither of you are going anywhere! Forget I said anything else!”

“Wait, was he sad because we weren’t there, or…?” Launchpad asked, coming to stand behind Gosalyn, which unfortunately for Fenton meant he was literally and figuratively cornered.

“Because the two people he loves the most weren’t there and he didn’t want to be alone again!” Fenton burst out, then immediately regretted it at seeing the expressions on Launchpad and Gosalyn’s faces.

“Fenton, did Dad think we weren’t gonna come back?” Gosalyn asked.

Fenton sighed and rubbed his face wearily. “I don’t know what he thought, Gos. His head wasn’t in the right place. He just… In that moment, he didn’t want to be alone.”

Gosalyn’s eyes filled with tears as she stared at Fenton with an open mouth for a moment, then she got out, “Did Dad think we were gonna leave him? Like, leave and not come back? Leave him alone like he was before he adopted me?”

Fenton flinched at her directness, and how accurately she had figured out what had happened that night.

That flinch was all the confirmation Gosalyn needed.

“We’re back,” Carol the nurse said as she wheeled Drake’s wheelchair back into the cubicle.

Gosalyn ran over and threw herself at her father, teary.

“Dad, I’m never gonna leave you alone, I promise!” She sniffled. “I mean it! I won’t leave, and you won’t be sad and alone again!”

Launchpad approached, kneeling down in front of Drake, laying his hand over Drake’s knee as he said, “And that goes double for me, Drake. I love you, and I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Drake smiled fondly at the two of them. He patted Gosalyn on the head and said, “I love you, Gosalyn…”

Gosalyn sniffled and smiled at him. “I love you, too, Dad.”

Drake then lifted his gaze towards Launchpad, his smile growing as he said, “I love you, Launchpad.”

Launchpad felt his heart hammer in his chest, going faster than he’d ever flown before. Drake said it. Drake said ‘I love you’ and it wasn’t even the result of pain medication this time!

Wait.

Why were Drake’s eyes so glassy?

Drake grinned and he looked over Launchpad’s shoulder. “I love you, Fenton!”

Fenton blinked. “Uh… Gracias?”

Carol sighed. “Come on, Mr. Mallard, let’s get you on the bed before Dr. Schwanz comes in.”

“I love you, Nurse Carol,” Drake told her, tilting his head back, a lazy smile still on his face.

“I know,” Carol said with a nod and another sigh. “Come on, up you get. Mr. McQuack, could you either move or help me?”

But Launchpad couldn’t move. He was too stunned by what was happening.

“Buh?” Launchpad got out, confused.

Drake patted the arm rest of the wheelchair fondly and said, “I love you, wheelchair…”

“Yes, yes, you love the wheelchair, now how about I introduce you to the bed?” Carol said, leading the tottering Drake to the bed.

“Bed!” Drake exclaimed cheerfully as Carol sat him down on it, then got him to lay back. “I love you, bed.”

“Uh…?” Gosalyn said, coming up to take Drake’s good hand in her own. “Is he okay?”

“Yes, he’s just been professing his love for anyone and everyone he’s come across on the trip back from radiology,” Carol told her. “To include a potted fern, a mop bucket, my watch, an empty gurney, the X-Ray tech, an intern, and a balloon.”

At that moment, Dr. Schwanz walked in carrying an envelope that undoubtedly held the X-Rays.

“Dr. Schwanz!” Drake shouted with glee. “I love you!”

Dr. Schwanz narrowed her eyes at him and said, “A horrible decision, really. Mr. McQuack, are you in some sort of distress?”

Launchpad was, indeed, in distress.

Because Drake said ‘I love you’.

On pain medication.

Which means that he won’t have any memory of any of this when it wears off…

“Not again!” Launchpad cried out, burying his face in his hands.

“Wait, _again_?” Gosalyn gasped, turning around.

Dr. Schwanz groaned and rolled her eyes.

“Let’s move this along, shall we?” She said.

The sooner these crazy people left her ER, the happier she would be.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Drake woke up groggy sometime after the sun had set. Gosalyn was curled up beside him, wide-awake and reading a book.

Drake made a small groaning noise and Gosalyn looked up.

“You’re awake!” She exclaimed. She kissed his cheek, then turned and cupped her hands around her mouth, calling, “LAUNCHPAD! HE’S AWAKE!”

Drake cringed at her volume-level, eyes squeezed shut as he said, “Gosalyn, pumpkin, next time how about you go get Launchpad instead?”

“Nope!” Gosalyn declared. “I don’t care that you don’t remember, I’m a woman of my word!”

Drake was suddenly filled with dread and wide-awake. “Gosalyn… What happened? I know I was on pain meds again and apparently I say stupid stuff on pain meds…”

“You didn’t say anything too stupid.”

“Oh good.” Drake said, feeling relieved.

“But you told just about anything and everything that you loved it.”

“Oh no.” Drake said, filled with dread again.

“It was funny, but got really boring really fast since it was just pretty repetitive,” Gosalyn told him. “It was a long car ride home, that’s for sure.”

Drake took a deep breath and counted backwards from ten. When he got to zero, he said, “Okay. Fine. This is fine. Everything is fine. Now what the heck did you do that made you say that you’re a woman of your word?”

“Oh. That,” Gosalyn said, glancing down at the bedspread and trailing a finger over the pattern. “It’s not based off anything you said this time. But Fenton said last time you were on pain meds, while Launchpad and I were gone, you were apparently really sad because we weren’t there. And you thought we were gonna leave for good or something. So I promised you that I wouldn’t leave. Which, in hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have done while you were stupid on drugs.”

Drake groaned and rubbed his forehead, cursing Fenton and his big mouth and not telling him about this…

“You do know we’re not going to leave you, right?”

Drake looked up at Launchpad, leaning against the doorframe.

“I know that,” Drake said. He tilted his head from side to side in thought then amended, “Well. I know Gos isn’t going anywhere. She’s legally stuck with me until she’s eighteen.”

“I’m not ‘stuck’,” Gosalyn argued with a huff, moving Drake’s good arm so that it was slung around her shoulders as she snuggled into his side. “I’m happy with you, Dad. You know that, right?”

“I do,” Drake said. “But it’s good to be reminded of that instead of thinking you only see me as a no good tyrant who forces you to eat broccoli and clean your room.”

“Well, you’re that, too,” Gos said. “But only sometimes.”

Launchpad came and sat at Drake’s feet. “We’re not stuck with you, Drake. Neither of us are.” He met Drake’s eyes and said in a low voice, “I’m not going anywhere…”

There were so many ways Drake could have responded to that. And he didn’t know which response to pick.

_I know._

_You’ll get tired of me eventually._

_I’m not going anywhere, either._

_I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay._

_I’m so glad._

_What if we don’t work out?_

_I love you._

He didn’t get a chance to respond as they heard the front door crash open on the first floor. Followed by several other things crashing.

“I’ve got the pizzas!” Fenton called up. “They’re okay! Still in the boxes! But, uh, don’t open the soda for a few minutes!”

“Fenton got dinner,” Launchpad explained needlessly.

“Ah. Cool. Shouldn’t have a problem getting pizza in my mouth with my non-dominate hand.” Drake said.

“Great thing about pizza,” Launchpad said, standing up. “It’s one of those ambient Texas-saurus foods.”

“Ambidextrous?” Gosalyn suggested.

“Yeah, that one,” Launchpad said, snapping his fingers and pointing at her.

There was another crash from below, followed by Fenton calling up, “Uh, we’re down a pizza…”

“I’m gonna go help Fenton,” Launchpad said, heading for the door.

“Please. Before my dishes suffer.” Drake said. He sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed, groaning at how stiff and sore he felt. Gosalyn clamored down and ran around to offer him her hand to get to his feet. “Thanks, Gos.”

“No problem,” Gosalyn said. She glanced at the door and lowered her voice. “Uh… You haven’t told Launchpad yet, have you? That you love him?”

“No?” Drake said, glancing at her warily. “Why?”

Gosalyn just nodded. “Just wondering. But I think you need to do it sooner rather than the next time you’re given the happy drugs at the ER.”

Drake frowned at her for a moment in confusion.

Then his brain picked up what she had told him earlier.

About how he had apparently spent this round of pain killers professing his love to anyone and everyone.

To include…

His boyfriend.

Whom he hadn’t said ‘I love you’ to yet.

His day just got better and better…

“I’ll tell him Gos,” Drake told her. “I promise.”

Gosalyn gave him a skeptical look that clearly said “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Well. Now he had to, didn’t he?


	6. Chapter 6

Elise groaned as the gas light came on as soon as she turned on the engine of her car.

Great, just great.

She had just come off a double shift, of which she spent the last two hours with her idiot co-worker and all of his condescension and all of his treating her like she was a fresh-faced pre-med undergrad and all of his stupid nonsense about being more knowledgeable than she was just because he finished his residency six months before Elise had and all of his high-and-mighty attitude because he went to a more expensive school than she had as a legacy student.

Didn’t matter that Elise had graduated with high honors for a perfect GPA. Or the fact that he had been at the bottom of his own graduating class. He still tried to make her do grunt work and belittled every word that came out of her mouth, and made it clear that he hated that she never second-guessed herself after he insulted her and her judgement calls.

All she wanted to do was go home, maybe see her girlfriend before she left for work, and pass out in bed. The last thing she wanted to do was make a pit stop for gas. Alas, she knew that she couldn’t make it home without even just a few more gallons in her tank.

She pulled out of her space and went to find the nearest gas station.

Elise was dead on her feet, yawning as she pumped gas into her car, eyes half-lidded. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that it had been several hours since she last ate. She glanced at the convenience store attached to the gas station. There were lights on, and she could see two workers in polo shirts chatting at the front desk in front of a Pep display.

Her stomach growled louder when she saw a sign in the window that said that they proudly served Bun-Bun Cinnamon Buns. That would be not only a perfect breakfast, but those things were huge. She could definitely persuade her high-powered businesswoman girlfriend to be a few minutes late for work to split one with her…

As she was finishing pumping gas, she heard the purr of a motorcycle that pulled in across from her station.

She glanced up at the motorcycle and its rider, looked back at the pump’s screen, then did a double take at the rider, who was taking off his helmet and replacing it with a dark hat.

Elise had seen him on the news before. Well, most of him on the news. His face was usually covered by the news station logo. He was… Gizmoduck’s sidekick? Dark-something? She mostly knew him by the name ‘purple weirdo’ that her girlfriend used, often in disdain.

The purple weirdo started pumping gas into his motorcycle, tapping his foot almost impatiently and mumbling to himself. He happened to glance up and met Elise’s eye.

He froze, his eyes widening momentarily, then he quickly averted his gaze towards the screen on his pump.

Elise frowned as her pump shut off. That was… an odd reaction.

Whatever. It was too early to deal with weirdos.

Elise grabbed her purse out of the car and locked it, heading for the store.

“Hi, what can I do for ya?” Asked one of the employees jovially as Elise entered.

“Got any of those Bun-Bun Cinnamon Buns ready?” Elise asked.

“Yep!” Answered the other. “One’s in the oven right now. Be done in about five minutes. You in a rush?”

“Not if it means missing out on a hot fresh Bun-Bun Cinnamon Bun,” Elise said.

“Then you just sit tight, and it’ll be out in a jif!” The employee said.

“Thanks. Got any decaf brewed?” Elise asked, glancing at the coffee pots.

The employee who first greeted her chuckled. “This time of morning we have people looking for the opposite of decaf.”

“I just got off work and plan to sleep. I just need something to get me home,” Elise explained, fishing through her purse for her wallet. “How much for a small?”

“That’ll be—”

Elise looked up as the employee’s voice trailed off, his eyes wide with shock, staring at something behind her. She didn’t turn but couldn’t help but let out a whimper as she heard a gunshot go off behind her, followed by a crash of a fallen ceiling tile.

She scrambled away, falling over a candy display and landing on the floor, staring up at two ski-mask wearing thugs carrying guns.

“This is a hold-up,” Thug #1 declared. “No one’ll get hurt, so long as we get the money in this joint. You—” He pointed at the man behind the counter. “Open the cash register. And you—” He pointed at the other employee, who whimpered with a gun pointed at them. “Go open the safe.”

The employee gulped and stammered, “I-I can’t. Only the manager can. He had to leave early, and his replacement is running late and—”

“I don’t want to hear excuses!” Thug #1 yelled. “I want—”

Suddenly, the entryway to the convenience store flooded with purple smoke.

“What the—?” Thug #2 muttered, looking around.

“I am the terror that flaps in the night.” A voice intoned ominously from within the clouds of smoke.

“Over there!” The first thug called out, pointing. Elise put her hands over her head and curled into a ball on the floor as a bullet went through the glass window.

“I am the exit that you missed because you were jamming out to Powerline.” The voice continued.

“No way,” Thug #2 said. “How’d he—OOF!”

Elise winced as she watched the thug hit the ground. The smoke cleared and standing up on the counter, hands on his hips was…

“I,” The purple weirdo declared. “Am Darkwing Duck! And you two—” He pointed at the thugs. “Are the world’s dumbest criminals to rob a gas station that I’m filling up at! Seriously, did you _not_ see me right outside?”

“Uh, did you see him?” Thug #2 asked Thug #1.

“Yeah, but I thought he was a loser on his way home from Comic Con,” Thug #1 responded.

Darkwing let out an indignant squawk. “RUDE!”

He leapt from the counter, leg out-stretched, his foot hitting Thug #1 in the face, sending him crashing to the ground. Thug #2 roared with fury as he took a swipe at Darkwing, who dropped down and swept Thug #2’s legs out from under him. Darkwing Duck stepped on Thug #2’s stomach and snatched up the gun.

“Dr. Schwanz, catch!” Darkwing called, tossing her the gun. Elise scrambled to get her hands out to catch it, her eyes wide as she grabbed the weapon.

“Someone call nine-one-one!” She called out as she took the gun and ran deeper into the store, taking advantage of the many candy displays and aisles.

“My partner is way ahead of you!” Darkwing called out from the front, letting out a grunt as he apparently took a hit. “Cops should be here any—”

“Watch out!” One of the employees called out.

Elise’s eyes went wide and she heard a grunt of pain and the sound of more scuffles. Without thinking, she threw open the walk-in beer fridge and tossed the gun in there as hard and as far as she could, then knocked down a wire rack full of pastries in front of the door before she ran back towards the front.

Thugs #1 and #2 were on the ground, tied up together in what looked like a grappling hook. Darkwing stood over them, holding a gun of his own, though it looked so cartoonishly different from the one the Thugs were using she almost didn’t recognize it for what it was. On the floor near the tied-up Thugs was a large, wicked looking knife that’s blade was coated in blood.

Elise saw that Darkwing was breathing heavily, and that his free hand was pressed over his side.

She could see dark red staining his costume, could see the slash marks that tore through the layers of fabric and the hint of white feathers quickly turning red with blood.

The store was suddenly flooded with red and blue lights coming from the cop cars pulling in to the gas station, police officers rushing in, led by a female cop with intense eyes who noticed Darkwing immediately and her eyes widened momentarily.

“Darkwing?” She said with surprise.

“They’re all yours, Officer Cabrera,” Darkwing said, disconnecting the wire in his gun as soon as he saw that the Thugs were apprehended by some large, burly cops. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I best be off.”

“Wait!” Elise called, rushing forward. “You’re wounded!”

“Nothing but a flesh wound, I assure you,” Darkwing Duck said, drawing his cape around him almost protectively.

“No, please, I’m a—” Elise started to get out, then she froze.

Wait.

He had called her ‘Dr. Schwanz’ only minutes before.

She wasn’t wearing her ID, nor her white coat. Just her scrubs. Those could be worn by a doctor or nurse…

“How did you know who I am?” Elise asked, her brow furrowing.

Darkwing stared at her for a long moment, his face blank. Then he smiled and reached up, tilting his hat towards her.

Then there was a puff of purple smoke.

And Darkwing Duck was gone.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Drake thumped his head against the brick wall, groaning slightly as Launchpad applied more pressure on the wound.

He was lucky, he knew. The knife had only grazed the skin under his feathers. Still. It hurt like hell. And it hadn’t stopped bleeding…

“I don’t like this, DW,” Launchpad said, voice strained with concern.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Drake moaned slightly.

“It hasn’t stopped bleeding. And it’s a deep flesh wound.” Launchpad asked. “Drake. Drake, look at me.”

Drake opened his eyes wearily. “’m fine, LP… Let’s just go home now…”

Launchpad grabbed Drake’s wrist, putting his fingers to the underside, quiet, concentrating. “Your pulse is weak. Your hand is cold. I think you’re going into shock.”

“You know, you might be right,” Drake mumbled. “I’m… I’m kind of dizzy right now, LP. And I’m sitting down…”

Launchpad stood up. “Right. Hospital. I’ll grab your change of clothes and—” He cut himself off and knelt down in front of Drake again. “Drake, what are we gonna tell the doctors?”

“Nothing that won’t get the cops called,” Drake answered. He grimaced and looked down at his bloody mess of a side and his destroyed costume jacket. “I’m going to have to go as Darkwing Duck this time, LP.”

“Drake… are you sure?” Launchpad asked, worriedly. “Doing that could risk your secret identity. What if they try to take your mask off?”

He had a point there…

“We need someone we trust, then, to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Drake said.

He had an idea.

Grimacing as he moved his arm to grab something from the inner pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a business card, pressing a bloody thumbprint against the white card.

“LP, punch this number into your phone, then let me talk to her,” Drake said.

“Who exactly are we calling?” Launchpad asked, already pulling out his phone.

“A friend. I hope.” Drake said.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Elise was taking a deep breath and sipping her coffee as she sat on the hood of a police car, waiting for Officer Cabrera to return to take her statement, when her phone rang.

Elise, thinking it was her girlfriend, wondering why she wasn’t home yet, picked it up, not even looking at the Caller ID as she answered, “Hello?”

There was silence for a moment and Elise frowned, glancing at the screen and the unfamiliar number. “Is this a spam call?”

“Dr. Schwanz?”

Elise paused. That voice… No, it couldn’t be…

“Drake?” She said hesitantly. “Drake Mallard?”

“Yeah. It’s me. You, uh, you gave me your card a while back. Told me to call you if I needed you. And, well, I kind of need you. Now.”

“Mr. Mallard, I’m afraid I’m not exactly in a good position right now. If it’s medical help you need, you might need to call nine-one-one instead.”

“I do need medical help, but I need you specifically. You’re still at the Quick-E Mart, right?”

Elise felt her heart jump into her throat.

“How do you know where I am?” She demanded.

There was silence, then Drake said, “Go down the street to the movie theater. Come behind the theater. Please. I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t incredibly important.”

Elise took a deep breath and made a split second decision.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” She promised.

She left her coffee, grabbed her purse, and ran off towards the movie theater.

Elise crept around back, looking around, grimacing. It was early morning, but the fog and the still-rising sun made things dim. She jumped slightly as she thought she heard a noise. Then she definitely heard something coming up towards her.

“HI-YA!” She cried out as she hit whatever it was with her purse.

“Hi ya!” Came the cheerful response, undisturbed by being hit with a purse.

Elise blinked up at Launchpad McQuack.

“Mr. McQuack?” She said. “What’s going on? Where’s Drake?”

Launchpad gestured for her to follow him, going deeper into the alleyway.

She turned the corner and froze for a moment.

Sitting on the ground, leaning against the brick wall, hat on the ground beside him, surrounded by bloody cloths, eyes closed…

Was Darkwing Duck.

Elise swallowed and moved forward silently, carefully, as if she was afraid he’d startle and flee.

His eyes fluttered open as Elise got close.

“Hi, Dr. Schwanz.” Darkwing Duck greeted. “Thanks for coming.”

Elise stared at Darkwing Duck for a long moment.

No. She stared at Drake Mallard for a long moment.

She took a deep breath then knelt on the ground, instantly in doctor mode, feeling his face. “Cold and clammy,” She said, then placed two fingers to the side of his neck. “Weak pulse.” Elise looked up at Launchpad. “I need you to call an ambulance. Now. Get one of the cops to help get the EMTs back here.”

“Officer Cabrera will help you,” Drake mumbled.

Launchpad nodded, running off with his phone in hand.

Elise turned back to Drake, putting pressure on the wound. “This whole time?” She asked, half to her patient and half to herself. “This whole time, every time you’ve come to my ER, it’s because you got hurt as Darkwing Duck?”

“Yep.” Drake confirmed, his eyes closed again.

“Christmas lights in July?”

“Got pushed off a building by a weather-based supervillain.”

“Fell down stairs and-or fell out of a tree?”

“Got pushed down stairs by an ex-wrestling superstar supervillain.”

“Bowling ball on the foot?”

“Really was an anvil. But not a Ren Faire Blacksmith supervillain. Still have no idea why that guy had an anvil. What is this, a cartoon?”

“The glass?”

“I’d rather not talk about that one.”

“You hit a bus?”

“I hit a bus.”

Elise huffed and shook her head. “All that time… I can’t believe it.”

“Couldn’t seek out treatment as Darkwing Duck,” Drake explained. “Didn’t want to risk my secret identity becoming, well, not a secret.”

“Why are you this time?” Elise asked.

“Can’t explain this one easily,” Drake said, shrugging slightly then wincing. “Have to find a good lie about how I got slashed.” He opened one eye to look at her. “And I’d really like to avoid having your ER staff think it’s my boyfriend again.”

Elise winced. “Yeah, I owe Launchpad an apology for that, don’t I?”

Drake closed his eye again and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Probably. He was never mad about that, you know? He knows you were doing your job and stuff. But, point is, I need your help. I need to be Darkwing Duck this time when I go to the hospital. And I need to stay Darkwing Duck.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Elise questioned.

“Mask. It stays on. No doctors, no nurses, no EMT, no one touches the mask.”

Elise nodded. “I got it. I can make sure that happens. I promise.”

Drake opened both eyes again and smiled at her faintly. “Knew I could trust you.”

As she heard Launchpad and Officer Cabrera direct EMTs, she watched as Darkwing Duck’s eyes fluttered shut as he fell unconscious.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Darkwing opened his eyes to a dim hospital room. He blinked a few times and groaned. He felt sore and weak. Still, he reached up to his face. He had to confirm…

He let out a sigh of relief as his fingertips brushed cloth. His mask was still on.

_She kept her word,_ Darkwing thought vaguely.

Now slightly more awake, he looked around the room. He saw he was attached to a heart monitor, and had two different IVs going, one of blood and one of fluids. He could feel bandages wrapped around his torso. He was alone, but it was clear someone who knew him had been there. His phone was charging on the nightstand beside him. On a chair across the room, a neatly folded new Darkwing Duck costume lay, his hat on top. He could see a small duffle bag tucked under the chair, undoubtedly filled with toiletries, sleepwear, and civilian clothing.

Darkwing carefully reached for his phone, wincing slightly as the movement tugged on the IVs and aggravated his wound. But he had his phone in hand, and that was what mattered.

Some part of him knew he should tell a nurse he was awake, but right now it was more important to see what he had missed.

A lot of texts, for one thing, and he had several social media alerts. He opened up one of the social media apps and frowned. Well. Now he had some idea of who had brought him his stuff. Gizmoduck’s visit to the hospital was trending…

“Seriously?” Darkwing muttered, scrolling through the feed. “I’m the one who ends up in the hospital after saving the day, and he gets a thousand new followers for ‘taking the time out of his busy crime-fighting schedule to visit the patients of Duckburg Hosptial’?”

He huffed and rolled his eyes, exiting out of the app and opening his texts instead. So many were from Launchpad and Gosalyn, and a few from Donald and Della and the manor kids. He focused on the ones from Launchpad and Gosalyn, his heart wrenching as he saw that it was mostly the same messages, asking him to call when he saw the message or asking if he was okay or just begging him to send a text to let them know he was alive.

He grabbed the pillow from underneath his head and put it on his lap, propping his phone on the pillow as he sent a request to Launchpad’s phone for a video chat.

The request was answered instantly and Gosalyn’s face appeared, her eyes wide and tinged with red, and he could see the remains of tears on her cheeks.

“Dad!” She exclaimed, bursting into a grin. Then she called over her shoulder, “Launchpad, it’s him!” Then she turned back to the phone. “You’re alive! Are you okay? When are you coming home?”

Darkwing smiled at her. “Hey, Gos. Yep, I’m alive. I’m a little sore and lightheaded but okay I guess. I don’t know when I’m coming home, I haven’t even let the nurses and doctors know I’m awake. Wanted to talk to you first.”

“DW!” Launchpad exclaimed, coming into view behind Gosalyn. Launchpad looked as if he’d aged five years since Darkwing last saw him that morning, but he was also smiling and looked relieved. “You’re okay!”

“I am,” Darkwing confirmed. “I’m sorry I scared you guys.”

“We weren’t scared, just worried,” Gosalyn insisted. “Launchpad more than me. I knew you’d be okay.”

Darkwing could tell just looking at her that this bravado was false, and the other way around was more accurate.

“Anyways, we’ve spent all day trying to come up with ways to sneak in to see you without giving away secret identities,” Gosalyn continued. To Launchpad, she said, “I still think with a trash can and a unicycle and me on your shoulders, we could totally convince people we’re Gizmoduck.”

“Fenton will just love how easy you think it is to pretend to be Gizmoduck,” Darkwing commented, smiling at the thought. “Oh, thanks for sending stuff through him, by the way. Haven’t had a chance to go through it yet, though.”

“Whoa, you really did just wake up,” Gosalyn said.

“Like I said, I wanted to check in on you two first, let you know I’m alive and stuff,” Darkwing told them. He jolted slightly at hearing a knock at the door and hastily said, “I think a nurse is here. Got to go, I’ll call back in a bit, love you bye.”

He quickly ended the call before either of them could say anything as Carol the ER nurse entered the room. She looked surprised to see him awake, but she smiled and closed the door behind her.

“Good to see you’re awake,” She said in a low voice, coming over to sit on the foot of the bed. “I won’t tell anyone you’re up just yet, unless you want me to. Otherwise, I’d like to talk.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Darkwing observed. “Fortunately for you, I live for danger.”

“And you nearly died for danger today,” Carol pointed out.

Darkwing winced. “Did I really?”

Carol shrugged. “I may be exaggerating. But you most likely would have without Elise.”

“Dr. Schwanz. Yeah. I owe her, big time.” Darkwing admitted. “When is she on duty next? I need to thank her.”

Carol sighed and frowned. “Unfortunately, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. She’s in trouble.”

Darkwing sat up in the bed, reaching for the blankets, eyes hard as he said, “Why didn’t you start with that?”

“Not dangerous trouble, but in trouble with our bosses trouble,” Carol said, putting her hands on his shoulders and getting him to lay down again. “Elise was off duty at the time when you came in—had just come off a double-shift. She apparently insisted on riding with you in the back of the ambulance, and she and one of the EMTs worked on you the entire ride here. Then she starts bossing around everyone and we’re jumping at her orders… And, well, that didn’t make the attending doc happy. They got in a shouting match over it, and, well, everyone in that trauma room picked a side. Her side.” Carol scowled and added, “I think you definitely wouldn’t have stood a chance if it was the other way around. He’s an idiot, and he’s always talking down to all the younger doctors and especially the nurses. Elise fought him, and fought him hard, especially when your heart rate took a serious dip.”

Darkwing grimaced. A thank you was definitely not going to be enough…

“So what happened?” He asked. “That got her in trouble?”

“He made a stink to our bosses, and his family has connections to the upper-crust of the hospital. Politics and that sort of nonsense that has no place when it comes down to saving people’s lives,” Carol said, bitterness tinging her voice. “So she’s been placed on suspension. Indefinitely.”

“What!” Darkwing exclaimed, eyes wide. “But she’s amazing at her job! One of the best doctors here!”

“Like I said, it all comes down to hospital politics,” Carol said. She sighed. “I don’t know if there’s anything you can do to persuade the board to reverse that decision, but if you can—”

“I don’t think they’ll listen to me,” Darkwing told her.

Carol’s shoulders slumped, her face showing defeat.

“But,” Darkwing said. “I know someone they will listen to. Could you hold off the other nurses from checking in on me while I make a phone call?”

Carol nodded and stood up. “I can do that.”

“Great. Hopefully it won’t be more than five, maybe ten minutes,” Darkwing said, already scrolling through his contacts as Carol left the room. He found who he was looking for and pressed the name. He listened to the ringing for a moment, then,

“Hello?”

“Mr. McDuck, it’s Darkwing,” Darkwing said. “And I have a favor to ask of you…”

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Elise decided to take the risk and approach the nurse’s desk. Carol looked up and smiled.

“Elise!” She exclaimed. “Good to see you!”

“Hey, Carol,” Elise said, shifting awkwardly, tugging on the straps of the bag on her shoulder. “I’m not… I’m not back. Yet. I just came to get some of my things from my locker. And… to ask about Darkwing.”

“He’s fine, healing well,” Carol said. “You were right about the anemia, and he’s getting iron supplements. Blood pressure is stable, the stitches are healing well, and he’s in no pain. Or, at least, has refused all form of pain relievers.”

Elise tried hard not to smile at that. Of course, Darkwing Duck would refuse the pain medication. Given how much of a disaster he was when he was given them as Drake Mallard, who knew what chaos would occur when he had them as Darkwing Duck?

“Good,” Elise said, feeling confident and comfortable knowing her patient was fine. “Do you think I should—”

“Leave? Most definitely.”

Elise groaned internally at the sound of Dr. Sneldgoose’s voice as she turned around to face him.

“Get out of my ER, Schwanz,” Dr. Sneldgoose said, smirking at her. “Before I call security.”

“I just came to get some things from my locker. As I do not know when I will be reinstated.” Elise informed him.

“And then you came to pester my nurses while they’re working. Really, you are just continuing to make a nuisance of yourself, aren’t you?”

“At least I’m a competent nuisance,” Elise snapped.

“Still, competent or not, it’ll be difficult for you to get a position elsewhere after you’re terminated,” Dr. Sneldgoose told her, his smirk growing. “I’ve heard rumors that things are not going to go well for you at your disciplinary hearing.”

Elise’s heart sank at that, already trying to calculate how to get out of this mess. She could give two weeks’ notice, but there was no way anyone would give her a reference. What could she do?

“Well,” Elise said tightly, swallowing her fear and hurt and putting on her brave face. The face that got her through coming out to her parents, enduring whispered slurs and spiteful insults in the high school halls, two break-ups, seven years of higher education, three years of residency, thousands of micro-aggressions and sexist comments, saving countless lives, and the aftermath of lives lost on her table. “I’m certain those rumors may not come to fruition when the board realizes that in my absence a complete and utter nincompoop was given free reign.”

Sneldgoose sneered at her and opened his mouth to respond…

But then suddenly his eyes caught something behind her, and his mouth dropped open.

Elise’s brow furrowed.

Then she heard a voice, heavy with a Scottish accent, say,

“Is this the young lass whom I—and all of Duckburg—have to thank for saving the life of Darkwing Duck?”

Elise whirled around, her eyes wide as she saw a good majority of the hospital board, looking apprehensive…

And standing in front of them, smiling slightly, was Scrooge McDuck.

“Dr. Schwanz, I presume?” He said, extending his hand.

“Y-Yes, Mr. McDuck, sir,” Elise stammered out, accepting his hand and shaking it.

“Call me Scrooge,” Mr. McDuck said. “Now, Dr. Schwanz, let’s go have a little chat in private now, shall we?”

Elise nodded, glancing at Carol over her shoulder as she followed the billionaire duck towards the break room. Carol’s eyes were just as wide, and in a bit of awe.

Scrooge led the way to the breakroom, dismissing a few wide-eyed residents who were on a lunch break, who proceeded to scatter out of the room with a wave of his cane.

Scrooge sat down at the table, Elise across from him. She was intimidated and impressed that his presence could make this crappy little kitchen table covered in gouges and stains feel like a gleaming mahogany boardroom table.

“Now then,” Scrooge said. “I do have to thank you for everything you have done for Darkwing. And I’m not just talking about yesterday’s events. Every time he has shown up in this ER over the last few months, you have been responsible for his care.”

Elise nodded slightly, realizing that this meant that Scrooge McDuck knew that she knew Darkwing Duck’s secret identity.

More importantly, he also knew that secret identity.

“I was just doing my job, sir.” She said. “Obviously, I didn’t know who he was at the time.”

“Unfortunately, as you may have noticed, it’s a job you routinely have to perform for our Darkwing,” Scrooge said. “He’s a tough one, Darkwing. Resilient. I’ve seen a piano be dropped on the lad and he just popped right back up like a daisy in spring. I haven’t quite determined if he finds trouble or if trouble finds him. Either way, it typically results in bodily harm in one way or another.”

“Sir?” Elise got out. “May I ask what your connection is to Darkwing Duck?”

“I am his employer,” Scrooge said. “And friend. He and Gizmoduck are both under my employ for protecting Duckburg. I believe you’ve met Gizmoduck a time or two as well.”

“I have?” Elise said, surprised. Well, that she hadn’t expected…

“Yes, and depending on how you respond to my proposition, you may learn some more information in that regard.” Scrooge told her.

“What exactly is this… proposition?” Elise asked hesitantly.

“Being a superhero is not exactly a safe profession,” Scrooge said. “And as we learned from this recent misadventure, getting medical care can be a challenge. Odd injuries get awkward questions when seeking treatment as a civilian. Secret identities get risked while seeking medical attention in uniform. What I would like to offer you is a position—also on my payroll—as the on-call physician for Darkwing Duck and Gizmoduck whenever they need it. I can set up several small emergency clinics throughout the city—such as at my Money Bin and home—that are yours to operate out of. In addition, if you choose, you can continue to work here at the Duckburg Hospital Emergency Room. I have already cleared the logistics through the hospital board, and they have agreed that you could have both positions.”

Elise sat stunned. It was an incredible offer, a high honor. Almost too good to be true.

“And if I don’t accept?” She asked.

“Let’s just say, I have left a sizeable donation with the hospital for the board to wipe away your suspension. Either way, you can be back in the Emergency Room tomorrow.”

Elise took a deep breath. “Can I think about it?”

“Of course,” Scrooge said, standing up. He handed her a card with his number on it. “Now, I’m going upstairs to collect my chauffer from his visit with Darkwing. Would you care to join me?”

She hesitated, then said, “No. I need to head home. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

And a lot to discuss with her girlfriend…

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Sneaking Launchpad in to see Darkwing was easier than they thought it would be. Scrooge McDuck made a big show about coming to visit Darkwing Duck, then to a meeting with the hospital board. No one noticed that Mr. McDuck’s chauffer had come with him into the building. Or that he hadn’t followed the Scotsman out of Darkwing Duck’s hospital room.

Fortunately, Darkwing was now very intimate with the nurses’ schedule for coming to check his vital signs, so that Launchpad could disappear from sight before they entered and exited. The rest of the time, though, Darkwing and Launchpad sat side-by-side on the bed, Darkwing resting his head on Launchpad’s chest.

“Gos didn’t put up too much of a stink about not being able to come today?” Darkwing asked.

“Yeah, but I told her that you’ll be home tomorrow, and that it was better for her to only have one unexcused absence from school,” Launchpad said. “Sorry I let her stay home yesterday.”

“It’s fine,” Darkwing said. “I’m glad she stayed home with you instead of going to school and worrying alone all day. For that matter, I’m glad you had someone to be with instead of being alone all day.”

Launchpad was quiet for a moment, then, “You really scared us, DW. They wouldn’t let me go in the ambulance with you, and all I could think about was that first time you had to be rushed to the hospital.”

Darkwing winced at the memory, of Launchpad, Scrooge and Della pulling him out of the water after he blew up Taurus Bulba’s airship.

It wasn’t a good memory, for him, for Launchpad, for Gosalyn.

“I’m sorry,” He said. “I don’t… I don’t want either of you to worry about me. Not like that.”

“Not your fault,” Launchpad reminded him. “We all knew what it would mean when you took up the cape, DW. You, me, and Gos. We knew it’d be dangerous. We even said ‘Let’s get dangerous’. It’s just… we’re still learning how to handle that fear and worry.”

“Doesn’t help that we’re still figuring out how to be a family, too,” Darkwing said softly.

“Nah,” Launchpad said. “I think that does help. Because we know one thing is certain: we all care about each other. That’s what it’s all about, really.”

Darkwing tilted his head up and looked at Launchpad. “Launchpad… I should have said this ages ago… I love you.”

Launchpad looked down at him, quiet for a long moment. Then, suspiciously, he asked, “Are you sure you’re not on pain meds? Because if so, this is three times now.”

Darkwing rolled his eyes. “I’m sure I’m not on pain meds. It’s for—wait, I said ‘I love you’ twice while on pain meds?”

“Yep. First and second time you dislocated your shoulder.”

Darkwing would have smacked himself in the forehead if not for the IVs and his really comfy position.

“I’m an idiot…” He mumbled. “But, no. I’m not on pain meds. I mean it. I meant it the times I was on drugs, too. I love you, Launchpad. I really, really, really love you and I honestly have zero idea what I’d do without you in my life and I can’t believe I survived as long as I did without you.”

Launchpad pressed a kiss to the top of Darkwing’s head. “I love you, too. You were exactly what my life has been missing. I don’t plan on letting you go anytime soon.”

“Good,” Darkwing said. “Because neither am I.”

They were leaning in for a kiss when there was a knock on the door in a specific pattern. Scrooge’s pattern. Launchpad carefully disentangled himself from Darkwing as the door opened, Scrooge entering.

“How’d it go?” Darkwing asked.

“The board was easy to persuade,” Scrooge answered. “As for Dr. Schwanz… She asked for time to consider our proposition.”

“Oh,” Darkwing said, shoulders slumping. “Did she at least seem, I don’t know, like she was interested?”

“Think the lass was too stunned, honestly, to know how she felt about it herself,” Scrooge said. “The proverbial ball is in her court now. We shall have to wait and see what she decides.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()

“Smells delicious, Elise,” Zan said as she entered the kitchen. “How can I help?”

“Pour some wine in the glasses,” Elise answered. “It’s all ready to serve now. And we have a lot to talk about over dinner.”

“Oh?” Zan said, grabbing the wine bottle. “Good talk or bad talk?”

“Good. I think.” Elise said, serving pasta onto plates.

“Related to work?” Zan asked hesitantly, knowing it is currently a sore subject.

“Yep.” Elise said, setting the pot in the sink to soak.

“You sound… well, neither pleased nor displeased,” Zan observed as she set the full wine-glasses on the table.

“I’m processing,” Elise admitted as she put the plates on the placemats before sitting down. She took a sip of wine to steady herself. “So. I went in to get stuff from my locker.”

“Right,” Zan said, nodding.

“And… I ran into Scrooge McDuck. Who was looking for me.”

Zan dropped her fork, letting it clatter on the plate. “Scrooge McDuck? McDuck Enterprises Scrooge McDuck?”

“One and the same.”

Elise then explained McDuck’s offer, studying Zan’s blank face the entire time and finishing with,

“And I don’t know what to do. I mean, I still have a job that I love one way or another. I just… this other job would make it so that I work weirder hours, and have to be available at the drop of a hat and—”

Zan reached across the table and laid her hand over Elise’s. “Honey, do you want my opinion?”

“Yes,” Elise said, nodding.

“Then I think you should accept McDuck’s offer.”

Elise blinked. “You do?”

“I do,” Zan confirmed. “I trust McDuck. McDuck trusts you. More importantly, Darkwing Duck trusts you. That trust is going to be important for this job. Not just anyone can have it. What is holding you back from saying ‘yes’ right away?”

Elise stared at her plate and whispered, “I don’t… I don’t know. Just… I couldn’t believe that was happening to me. The last two days feel like some sort of crazy dream. It just didn’t feel… real.”

“Well,” Zan said. “Let me tell you from my experience with McDuck: if it feels like it can’t and shouldn’t be real, it most definitely is.”

Elise smiled slightly and said, “I think I have a phone call to make.”

Zan smiled in response and nodded. “I think you do, too.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Gosalyn opened the front door and said, “Hi, Dr. Schwanz!”

“Hello, Gosalyn,” Dr. Schwanz said, giving her a smile as she entered the Mallard household. “You know, since I have a feeling we’re going to be seeing each other a lot, you can just call me ‘Elise’.”

“Elise,” Gosalyn repeated, her grin growing. “I like it.”

“How’s your dad holding up?” Dr. Schwanz asked as Gosalyn led her into the living room.

“Well, he’s been binge-watching the original _Darkwing Duck_ show and taking a lot of notes, so, that should be a warning for you,” Gosalyn said.

“Ignore my progeny,” Drake said from the couch, where he was seated beside Launchpad and wearing one of the pilot’s shirts, something loose enough to not aggravate the stitches in his side. He gestured with one hand towards another person in the room. “You remember Fenton?”

“Yes, I remember Fenton,” Dr. Schwanz said, setting her medical bag on the coffee table. “Or, should I say, Gizmoduck?”

Fenton sighed and pulled out a notebook and pen. “Another name for the list…”

“List of what?” Dr. Schwanz asked.

“People who know I’m Gizmoduck,” Fenton explained sheepishly, waving the notebook in the air slightly before tucking it away. “So what brings you by, Doc?”

“I came to check Drake’s stitches, see how they’re healing up,” Dr. Schwanz answered. She smiled. “All in a day’s work for the physician of Duckburg’s superheroes, you know.”

“We’ll try our best to keep your workload light,” Drake said, hiking up the hem of his shirt so Dr. Schwanz could see his stitches.

“Let’s be real, Dad,” Gosalyn said from where she perched herself on the back of the couch. “Fenton’s not the one who is the cause of the workload.”

Drake made a noise of indignation and snapped, “Rude. Rude, rude child…”

“She’s not wrong, babe,” Launchpad said, smiling as Drake made another indignant noise.

“Whose side are you on, Launchpad?”

Dr. Schwanz couldn’t help but smile.

These were most definitely her idiots.

And she’d do anything for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you can probably guess, this means that Dr. Elise Schwanz will be making more appearances in my stories in the future. Someone's got to keep Darkwing Duck and Gizmoduck alive to fight bad guys another day!


End file.
